'rTT^rrrrrr^r^^ 


LIBRARY 


OF  THE 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

v 
GIFT  OF 

GEORGE  MOREY  RICHARDSON. 

• 


Received,  ^August,  1898. 
Accession  No.20J        Class  No. 


IN    PRESS, 

Uniform  -with  this  Volume, 

THE    HAUNTED   ADJUTANT 

Slntt  ©tfjer  Stories. 

BY    EDMUND    QUINCY. 

EDITED  BY  HIS  SON,  EDMUND  QUINCY, 
One  vol.   12mo.    $1.50. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers.    Sent  postpaid,  upon 
receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers, 

JAMES  R.  OSGOOD   &   CO., 

BOSTON. 


WENSLEY 


©tfjer 


BY    EDMUND    QUINCY 


EDITED   BY  HIS  SON,    EDMUND    QUINCY 


BOSTON 

JAMES   R.   OSGOOD   AND   COMPANY 

1885 


Copyright,   1885, 
BY   EDMUND  QUINCY. 

All  rights  reserved. 


f5rtss: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


EDITOR'S    PREFACE. 


TT  is  not  without  some  hesitation  and  misgiving, 
that  the  editor  ventures  to  withdraw  some  of  the 
lighter  writings  of  the  late  Edmund  Quincy  from  the 
pages  of  half-forgotten  magazines,  and  give  them 
again  to  the  public,  together  with  the  only  novel  he 
ever  wrote.  In  the  whirl  of  the  present  day,  it  can 
not  be  expected  that  many  will  stop  long  enough  to 
read  stories  of  so  quiet  and  unexciting  a  nature ;  still 
there  may  be  some  to  whom  very  accurate  pictures 
of  a  way  of  life  long  passed  away,  and  tales,'  all  of 
which  have  a  certain  foundation  in  fact,  may  not  be 
wholly  without  interest.  The  history  of  the  octog- 
enary,  Colonel  Wyborne,  for  instance,  is  in  the  main 
facts  a  true  one ;  and  his  nocturnal  visit  to  Boston, 
after  an  absence  of  fifty  years,  was  an  actual  occur 
rence.  Mr.  Quincy  was  always  of  opinion  that  his 
essay  on  "  Old  Houses,"  published  in  1837,  might  have 
suggested  to  Hawthorne  that  great  magician's  won 
derful  "  Tales  of  the  Province  House,"  published  some 
time  after. 


IV  EDITOR'S  PREFACE. 

The  best  years  of  Mr.  Quincy's  life,  as  many  of  his 
contemporaries  will  remember,  were  given  to  the 
antislavery  cause ;  and  his  writings  on  that  subject, 
if  published  together,  would  make  many  volumes, 
and  might  furnish  a  contribution  not  without  value 
to  the  history  of  that  momentous  struggle.  The  time 
for  such  a  republication  is  not  yet  come,  perhaps  never 
will  come.  A  few  specimens  only  are  given,  at  the 
end  of  this  volume,  of  what  Mr.  Quincy  wrote  on  the 
subject  so  near  his  heart.  They  were  chiefly  contribu 
tions  to  an  annual  called  the  "  Liberty  Bell,"  edited 
by  Mrs.  Chapman  for  the  antislavery  fair  which  was 
held  in  Boston  annually  for  many  years. 


BANKSIDE.1 

BY  JAMES   RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

MAY  21,  1877. 

T    CHEISTENED  you  in  happier  days,  before 
•*•   These  gray  forebodings  on  my  brow  were  seen  : 
You  are  still  lovely  in  your  new-leaved  green ; 
The  brimming  river  soothes  his  grassy  shore  ; 
The  bridge  is  there,  the  rock  with  lichens  hoar, 
And  the  same  shadows  on  the  water  lean, 
Outlasting  us.     How  many  graves  between 
That  day  and  this  !     How  many  shadows  more 
Darken  my  heart,  their  substance  from  these  eyes 
Hidden  forever  !     So  our  world  is  made 
Of  life  and  death  commingled  ;  and  the  sighs 
Outweigh  the  smiles,  in  equal  balance  laid  : 
What  compensation  1     None,  save  that  the  Allwise 
So  schools  us  to  love  things  that  cannot  fade. 

Thank  God,  he  saw  you  last  in  pomp  of  May, 
Ere  any  leaf  had  felt  the  year's  regret : 
Your  latest  image  in  his  memory  set 

1  The  place  at  Dedham  where  Mr.  Quincy  resided  during  all  the 
latter  years  of  his  life  was  so  named  by  Mr.  Lowell. 

The  poem,  which  the  editor  takes  the  liberty  to  insert,  was  printed 
in  the  "Nation,"  under  the  date  of  Mr.  Quincy's  funeral,  and  is  given 
as  being  a  very  good  description  of  Mr.  Quincy's  character. 


Vi  BANKSIDE. 

Was  fair  as  when  your  landscape's  peaceful  sway 

Charmed  dearer  eyes  with  his  to  make  delay 

On  Hope's  long  prospect,  as  if  They  forget 

The  happy,  they,  the  unspeakable  ones,  whose  debt, 

Like  the  hawk's  shadow,  haunts  our  brightest  day. 

Better  it  is  that  ye  should  look  so  fair, 

Slopes  that  he  loved,  and  ever-murmuring  pines 

That  make  a  music  out  of  silent  air, 

And  bloom-heaped  orchard-trees  in  prosperous  lines  : 

In  you  the  heart  some  sweeter  hints  divines, 

And  wiser,  than  in  winter's  dull  despair. 

Old  friend,  farewell !     Your  kindly  door  again 

I  enter ;  but  the  master's  hand  in  mine 

No  more  clasps  welcome,  and  the  temperate  wine 

That  cheered  our  long  night  other  lips  must  stain. 

All  is  unchanged  ;  but  I  expect  in  vain 

The  face  alert,  the  manners  free  and  fine, 

The  seventy  years  borne  lightly  as  the  pine 

Wears  its  first  down  of  snow  in  green  disdain. 

Much  did  he,  and  much  well ;  yet  most  of  all 

I  prized  his  skill  in  leisure  and  the  ease 

Of  a  life  flowing  full  without  a  plan; 

For  most  are  idly  busy  ;  him  I  call 

Thrice  fortunate  who  knew  himself  to  please, 

Learned  in  those  arts  that  make  a  gentleman. 

Nor  deem  he  lived  unto  himself  alone ; 

His  was  the  public  spirit  of  his  sire, 

And  in  those  eyes,  soft  with  domestic  fire, 

A  quenchless  light  of  fiercer  temper  shone 

What  time  about  the  world  our  shame  was  blown 


BANKSIDE.  Vll 

On  every  wind  ;  his  soul  would  not  conspire 
With  selfish  men  to  soothe  the  mob's  desire, 
Veiling  with  garlands  Moloch's  bloody  stone ; 
The  high-bred  instincts  of  a  better  day 
Ruled  in  his  blood,  when  to  be  citizen 
Rang  Roman  yet,  and  a  Free  People's  sway 
Was  not  the  exchequer  of  impoverished  men, 
Nor  statesmanship  with  loaded  votes  to  play, 
Nor  public  office  a  tramp's  boozing  ken. 


AUTHOR'S   PREFACE 

TO  THE  ORIGINAL  EDITION  OF  WENSLEY. 


A  S  the  last  sheets  of  this  work  were  passing 
through  the  press,  my  friend  in  Boston,  who  is 
kind  enough  to  read  the  proofs  for  me,  was  asked  by 
the  competent  authorities  of  the  printing-office  for 
the  preface.  Now,  it  had  never  occurred  to  me  to 
write  a  preface ;  and  I  do  not  believe  I  should  ever 
have  thought  of  it,  had  it  not  been  for  this  official 
reminder.  But,  when  I  came  to  think  the  matter 
over,  it  seemed  to  me  quite  likely  that  the  "  gentle 
readers  and  still  gentler  purchasers"  (may  their 
name  be  Legion ! )  might  possibly  marvel  within 
themselves  why  I  should  have  thought  it  worth  my 
while  and  theirs  to  confide  to  them  the  passages  of 
my  life  herein  recorded.  So  perhaps,  as  it  has  been 
put  into  my  head,  I  may  as  well  tell  just  how  it  all 
came  to  pass. 

I  am  sure,  if  anybody  wonders  at  finding  himself 
(or  herself)  the  depositary  of  personal  confidences  on 
my  part,  I  am  much  more  astonished  to  find  myself 


X  AUTHOR'S   PREFACE. 

making  them.  It  fell  out  on  this  wise.  In  the  early 
part  of  August,  1852,  while  the  monthly  bearing  the 
superscription  of  Mr.  Putnam,  10  Park  Place,  New 
York,  was  as  yet  only  in  supposition,  a  gentleman 
now  prominently  connected  with  the  management  of 
that  excellent  periodical  chanced  to  be  my  guest  for 
a  while.  An  accident  which  befell  him  while  on  a 
pedestrian  tour  among  the  Appalachians,  the  particu 
lars  of  which  are  immaterial  to  my  present  purpose, 
though  sufficiently  interesting  in  themselves,  obliged 
him  to  remain  for  some  time  under  my  roof.  The 
many  who  enjoy  his  acquaintanceship  will  think  it 
a  very  natural  consequence  of  this  adventure  that  he 
should  have  made  me  a  friend ;  while  the  few  who 
possess  mine  will  esteem  it  a  very  odd  one  that  he 
should  have  made  me  an  author.  But  so  it  was. 

And  thus  it  was.  Confiding  to  me  the  project  of 
the  intended  magazine,  he  kindly  invited  me  to  con 
tribute  something  for  its  pages.  Now,  I  had  always 
wished  to  leave  behind  me  some  sketch,  however 
imperfect,  in  the  lack  of  a  more  skilful  limner,  of 
my  revered  and  beloved  friend  Mr.  Bulkley ;  and  here 
seemed  to  be  the  occasion  and  the  repository  offered 
ready  to  my  hand.  So  in  due  time  I  wrote,  and  for 
warded  to  New  York,  the  substance  of  what  the  reader 
will  find  in  the  first  two  chapters  of  the  book  before 
him ;  that  is,  if  he  have  not  already  read  the  book  on 
the  supposition  that  he  had  laid  hold  of  a  novel  (a 


AUTHOR'S   PREFACE.  XI 

species  of  literature  which  I  have  no  wish,  as  there  is 
certainly  no  occasion,  to  encourage),  and  now  turned 
back  to  the  preface  last  of  all,  as  Sir  Walter  Scott 
tells  us  is  the  way  with  that  class  of  students,  to  find 
out  what  the  author  would  be  at. 

The  kindness  with  which  this  outline  was  wel 
comed,  and  the  friendly  encouragement  I  received  to 
fill  it  up,  induced  me  to  enlarge  my  canvas,  and  to 
paint  in  the  other  figures  that  seemed  likely  to  illus 
trate  my  main  design.  It  was  throughout  my  purpose 
to  have  Mr.  Bulkley  the  central  figure  of  the  group, 
and  to  make  him  the  chief  object  of  observation  and 
interest.  I  say  thus  much  to  excuse  myself  to  those 
readers  who  object  to  the  appearance  of  egotism,  which 
is  inseparable  from  the  autobiographic  form  which 
my  narrative  naturally  assumed.  I  say  naturally, 
because  it  seems  to  me  more  simple  to  recount  any 
passages  in  which  one  took  a  part  one's  self  in  the 
first  person  rather  than  in  the  third ;  though,  to  be 
sure,  there  are  illustrious  examples  to  the  contrary — 
as  Julius  Caesar  of  Borne,  and  Major-General  Heath 
of  Massachusetts,  in  their  respective  Commentaries. 
The  first  of  these  military  authors  says,  "  Caesar 
did  so  and  so ; "  and  the  other,  "  This  being  the 
opinion  of  our  general,  he  did  this  and  that."  But, 
as  I  was  never  suspected  of  being  a  hero,  I  prefer 
the  more  plain  and  straightforward  form  of  speech, 
which,  if  it  savor  more  of  vanity  (which  I  doubt)  than 


Xll  AUTHOR'S   PREFACE. 

the  other,  at  least  smacks  less  of  affectation,  which 
is  worse  yet. 

Thus  it  was  that  my  narration  grew  up  to  its 
present  bulk,  and  extended  itself  through  all  the 
numbers  of  a  whole  volume  of  Putnam,  instead  of 
occupying  a  modest  corner  of  one.  After  it  had  run 
its  race  in  that  arena,  I  supposed  that  there  was  an 
end  of  the  whole  thing ;  when,  one  day  a  while  ago, 
I  received  a  letter  from  the  eminent  publishers, 
Messrs.  TICKNOR  AND  FIELDS  of  Boston,  proposing  to 
print  it  in  book-form.  At  first  I  could  account  for 
the  proposition  only  on  the  hypothesis  that  that 
respectable  firm  had  been  seized  with  a  sudden 
paroxysm  of  insanity  —  a  theory  rendered  the  more 
probable  by  the  accounts  the  Boston  newspapers  were 
then  giving  of  the  untimely  raging  of  the  dogstar  in 
those  latitudes,  driving  great  numbers  even  of  the 
canine  race  out  of  their  wits.  But  finding,  on  inquiry, 
that  no  commission  of  lunacy  had  as  yet  been  issued 
against  those  worthy  gentlemen,  I  was  prevailed  upon 
to  yield  my  opinion  to  theirs,  and  to  consent  to  their 
proposal,  the  rather  that  it  included  inducements 
which  no  true-born,  well-brought-up,  and  intelligent 
American  citizen  could  find  it  in  his  heart  to  resist. 

This  is  the  way  by  which  Wensley  has  come  into 
the  hands  of  the  reader  in  its  present  shape.  I  can 
hardly  help  laughing  to  see  myself  in  such  relations 
with  the  public,  after  so  many  years  of  absolute 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  Xlll 

retirement.  But  then,  to  be  sure,  it  is  very  likely 
that  the  critics,  should  they  get  hold  of  me,  will  make 
me  laugh  the  other  side  of  my  mouth.  If  my  pub 
lishers  were  indeed  in  the  rabid  condition  above 
suggested,  when  they  proposed  giving  it  this  form 
and  pressure,  I  must  hope,  for  their  sake  merely,  that 
they  may  succeed  in  biting  uncounted  multitudes 
throughout  the  country.  But  if  they  should  not,  and 
they  should  find  that  they  have  made  a  loss  by  the 
operation,  the  responsibility  as  well  as  the  loss  will 
be  theirs  alone.  I  never  asked  them  to  undertake  it. 
But  should  the  public,  which  I  acknowledge  as  the 
tribunal  of  the  last  appeal,  in  passing  upon  my  part 
of  the  matter  before  them,  pronounce  judgment 
against  it,  I  shall  bow  reverently  to  the  decree;  and 
all  that  I  shall  have  to  say  in  mitigation  of  sentence, 
and  extenuation  of  my  fault,  will  be  expressed  in  the 
formulas  of  the  ancient  pleas  of  the  nursery  and  the 
schoolroom :  "  I  did  not  mean  to  do  it ;  I  ana  sorry 
for  it ;  and  I  will  never  do  so  again." 

ST.  PHILIPSBURGH,  Monongahela  County, 
Perm.,  April  1,  1854. 


CONTENTS. 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE m 

BANKSIDE,  BY  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL      ....  v 

AUTHOR'S  PREFACE ix 

WENSLEY 

MOUNT  VERNEY 279 

WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA  ? 321 


WENSLEY. 


WENSLEY: 

A    STORY    WITHOUT    A    MORAL. 


CHAPTEE    I. 

HOW  I  CAME  TO  GO  TO  WENSLEY. 

I  BELIEVE  I  have  a  natural  affinity  —  it  may  be 
only  an  elective  one  —  for  odd  people.  At  any 
rate,  allowing  for  my  limited  opportunities,  it  has  been 
my  hap  to  fall  in  with  my  share  of  them  during  the 
time  past  of  my  pilgrimage.  And  I  began  betimes 
too.  I  dare  say  not  many  of  my  readers  ever  heard 
of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Adrian  Bulkley  of  Wensley,  in 
Massachusetts ;  and  yet  I  will  make  bold  to  assure 
them  that  they  have  not  had  many  acquaintances 
better  worth  knowing  than  he;  or,  if  they  have, 
their  luck  has  been  more  than  mine.  It  is  a  thou 
sand  pities  that  he  had  not  fallen  in  the  way  of 
Charles  Lamb  or  De  Quincey.  They,  or  Hawthorne, 
would  have  delighted  in  making  him  immortal.  But 
for  the  lack  of  a  sacred  bard  he  must  needs  be  for 
gotten,  like  the  heroes  that  lived  before  Agamemnon, 


4  WENSLEY. 

and  be  as  if  he  had  never  been.  Possibly  his  name 
may  yet  be  one  of  the  household  words  of  the  little 
inland  town  over  which  he  predominated  for  so  many 
years ;  and  perhaps  the  genial  eccentricities  of  his  life 
and  speech  may  still  make  the  staple  of  a  winter's 
tale  round  a  farmer's  fireside  there.  But,  beyond 
these  narrow  bounds  and  the  not  much  wider  sphere 
of  his  clerical  exchanges,  he  was  but  little  known 
while  he  lived  ;  and  even  within  them  his  memory 
must,  by  the  natural  laws  of  decay,  be  gradually 
mouldering  away,  along  with  his  dust  in  the  Min 
ister's  Tomb,  out  of  men's  minds.  So  that  it  will 
not  be  many  years  before  his  name  will  survive 
only  in  the  homely  annals  of  the  parish  records, 
on  the  tablet  lately  erected  by  the  Wensley  Sewing 
Circle  to  the  deceased  ministers  of  the  town,  and 
in  the  triennial  catalogue  of  Harvard  College. 

I  well  remember  my  first  sight  of  him.  And  well 
I  may ;  for  it  was  connected  with  a  little  incident  in 
my  life  such  as  usually  makes  a  deep  impression  on 
any  ingenuous  youth  whom  it  befalls.  Not  to  mince 
the  matter,  the  government  of  the  college  charged 
with  my  education  were  misled  by  a  train  of  unto 
ward  circumstances  to  the  conclusion  that  a  residence 
of  some  months  in  a  rural  district,  remote  from  the 
temptations  incident  to  academic  life,  would  be  at 
once  beneficial  to  me,  and  of  good  example,  by  way 
of  warning,  to  the  rest  of  the  university.  I  need 
hardly  say  to  any  one  who  knew  me  at  that  time, 
or  who  enjoys  that  advantage  now,  that  they  were 


HOW  I   CAME   TO   GO   TO   WENS  LEY.  5 

entirely  mistaken,  and  rested  their  conclusions  upon 
very  erroneous  premises.  The  facts  were  these : 
there  was  at  that  time  a  sodality,  or  voluntary  asso 
ciation  of  youth  for  mutual  improvement,  the  object 
of  which  was  to  combine  abstract  with  practical  sci 
ence.  Their  purpose  was  to  imitate,  at  a  humble  dis 
tance,  the  example  of  the  divine  Socrates,  and  to  call 
philosophy  down  from  heaven  to  minister  to  the  ne 
cessities  of  man.  They  delighted  in  nicely  observ 
ing  the  effects  of  fire,  for  instance,  on  certain  animal 
and  vegetable  substances.  They  curiously  watched 
the  chemical  changes  resulting  from  the  mixture  of 
divers  liquids  one  with  another.  And  they  specu 
lated  profoundly  on  the  laws  of  pneumatics,  whereby, 
through  the  agency  of  fire  at  the  one  end  and  of  a 
gentle  suction  at  the  other,  a  desiccated  vegetable 
convolution  could  be  returned  to  its  original  elements 
of  air  and  earth  in  the  form  of  smoke  and  ashes,  — 
pulvis  et  umbra,  as  Horace  would  have  said  touching 
it,  had  he  not  died  before  the  sight. 

This  harmless,  not  to  say  praiseworthy,  fraternity 
appropriately  denominated  themselves  "the  Deipno- 
sophoi,"  or  supper  philosophers,  —  a  term  which  very 
aptly  described  the  practical  nature  of  their  scientific 
pursuits.  It  did  sometimes  happen  to  them,  as  it 
hath  to  the  ardent  followers  of  science  in  all  times, 
that  they  pursued  their  investigations  a  little  too  far, 
and  that  occasionally  the  supper  was  rather  too  much 
for  the  philosophy.  It  was  the  gloss  of  the  rulers  of 
the  university,  that  the  night  which  was  the  imme- 


6  WENSLEY. 

diate  cause  of  my  introduction  to  Mr.  Bulkley  was 
one  of  these  exceptional  occasions.  I  neither  admit 
nor  deny  the  imputation.  It  was  affirmed  on  behalf 
of  the  prosecution  that  songs  of  a  lively  character, 
interspersed  with  laughter  of  a  vociferous  nature  and 
an  occasional  shout  of  triumph,  disturbed  the  stillness 
of  the  night.  It  did  also  happen  that  the  windows 
of  an  unpopular  tutor  (since  a  very  eminent  literary 
and  public  man)  were  broken  in  a  most  emphatic 
and  unqualified  manner  that  particular  night.  But 
I  defy  the  world  to  the  proof  that  any  of  our  party 
had  anything  to  do  with  that.  But,  suppose  both 
these  charges  could  have  been  substantiated,  I  appeal 
to  every  impartial  and  well-regulated  mind  whether 
any  inference  could  be  drawn  from  them  to  the  dis 
advantage  of  young  votaries  of  science,  who  could 
not  refrain  from  seizing  a  favorable  moment  for 
testing  the  principles  of  acoustics,  or  were  unable  to 
resist  an  eminently  tempting  opportunity  to  reduce 
to  practice  the  laws  governing  projectiles.  These  lib 
eral  views,  unfortunately,  did  not  inspire  the  proctors 
when  they  gave  hot  chase  to  our  party,  who,  resort 
ing  to  the  laws  regulating  muscular  locomotion  with 
great  energy,  all  made  their  escape,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  my  unlucky  self.  But  I,  after  practically 
experiencing  the  law  of  the  resistance  of  matter  by 
striking  my  foot  against  a  stone,  exemplified  that  of  ' 
gravitation  by  measuring  my  length  on  my  mother 
earth. 

Of  course  there  was  no  use  of  resistance  or  disguise 


HOW   I   CAME   TO   GO   TO   WENSLEY.  7 

when  the  enemy  had  me  at  such  a  deadly  advantage. 
Wellington,  Napoleon,  General  Taylor  himself,  would 
have  surrendered  under  such  circumstances.  I  was 
seized  and  identified,  and  then  ordered  to  go  to  my 
rooms.  This  was  quite  superfluous,  as  I  had  no  inten 
tion  of  going  anywhere  else.  So  I  went  thither,  curs 
ing  my  ill  luck,  and  having  a  particularly  ill  opinion 
of  supper-eating  combined  with  philosophy.  -  Nor  did 
this  unfortunate  conjunction  rise  in  my  estimation 
when  I  was  summoned  before  the  college  government 
in  full  conclave  the  next  morning,  to  answer  for  the 
deeds  done  the  night  before.  Honest  old  souls  !  Not 
one  of  them  left !  I  hated  some  of  them  then,  but  I 
think  tenderly  and  reverently  of  them  all  now.  Of 
course  I  admitted  what  could  not  be  denied,  but  reso 
lutely  refused  to  give  any  information  that  should 
implicate  any  one  else.  So  I  was  thought  to  have 
got  off  very  easily  when  the  President  sent  for  me 
soon  after,  and  read  to  me  my  credentials  (then 
popularly  known  as  my  walking-ticket),  stating  that 
the  government,  in  consideration  of  Osborne's  having 
assisted  at  a  festive  entertainment  on  such  a  night, 
sentenced  him  to  be  suspended  for  nine  months,  to 
pass  the  same  under  the  charge  of  the  Eev.  Adrian 
Bulkley  of  Wensley. 

After  a  little  advice,  given  in  the  kindly  and 
friendly  tone  which  has  given  him  a  place  in  the 
hearts  of  all  his  academic  sons,  the  President  dis 
missed  me  with  "  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye, "  as  if 
he  did  not  regard  me  as  a  sinner  above  all  others, 


8  WENSLEY. 

enjoining  it  upon  me  to  leave  town  within  an  hour. 
Having  expected  this,  and  having  escaped  much  bet 
ter  than  I  had  feared,  a  chum  of  mine  drove  me  to 
Boston  as  fast  as  Read's  best  horse  could  carry  us. 
Here  I  reported  my  misfortune  to  my  guardian 
(having  been  an  orphan  since  infancy) ;  and  after  re 
ceiving,  like  Don  Juan,  "  a  lecture  and  some  money," 
I  took  my  place  on  the  top  of  the  stage-coach  which 
passed  through  Wensley  on  its  way  to  Haverford, 
and  found  myself,  about  five  o'clock  on  a  fine  after 
noon  in  June,  whirling  up  to  the  door  of  Grimes's 
tavern,  well  renowned  in  all  the  region  round  about  for 
flip,  the  loggerhead  whereof  never  grew  cold. 

Old  Grimes — I  beg  his  pardon,  I  mean  Major 
Grimes — squinted  a  welcome  to  me  out  of  his  one 
eye,  while  his  copper  nose  glowed  with  anticipated 
hospitality  as  he  assisted  me  to  descend  from  my 
elevation.  But  his  hopes  of  immediate  advantage 
from  my  advent  were  dampened  by  my  inquiring,  as 
soon  as  I  had  complied  with  the  custom  of  the  time, 
and  done  my  best  to  qualify  the  coachman  for  break 
ing  the  necks  of  the  travellers  I  left  behind  me,  by  a 
stiff  glass  of  toddy,  —  by  my  inquiring,  I  say,  for  the 
house  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Bulkley. 

"  Mr.  Bulkley  ! "  repeated  the  Major,  wiping  his 
toddy-stick  as  he  spoke,  and  laying  it  reverently  aside 
for  the  next  occasion,  sure  soon  to  recur  ;  "  you  are 
a  relation  of  his,  perhaps,  sir  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,  that  I  know  of,"  was  my  curt 
response. 


HOW  I   CAME   TO   GO   TO   WENSLEY.  9 

"All,  only  an  acquaintance,  then?"  persisted  the 
gallant  toddy  mixer. 

"  Never  saw  him  in  my  life,"  said  I. 

"  Only  know  him  by  reputation  ? "  suggested  the 
Major. 

"Never  heard  of  his  existence  till  this  morning," 
I  returned  rather  snappishly ;  "  but  for  all  that  I 
wish  to  see  him,  and  shall  be  obliged  to  you  if  you 
will  tell  me  where  he  lives." 

"  Oh,  I  understand,"  drawled  out  mine  host,  cocking 
his  eye  afresh  at  me  with  an  indescribably  knowing 
leer,  which  was  also  indescribably  provoking,  "  now 
I  understand  it  all.  When  did  you  leave  Cambridge, 
sir  ? " 

"  Cambridge  be  d d  ! "  said  I  in  my  haste  ( I 

do  not  justify  this  summary  disposition  of  that  an 
cient  seat  of  learning,  but  historical  accuracy  compels 
me  to  record  that  this  was  the  precise  formula  I  made 
use  of  ) :  "  is  it  any  business  of  yours,  I  should  like  to 
know,  where  I  came  from  ?  What  I  want  of  you  is 
to  know  where  I  'm  to  go." 

"Not  the  least  business  of  mine  in  the  world," 
responded  my  interrogator  with  the  most  quiet  equa 
nimity,  still  regarding  me  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye 
with  an  expression  in  which  fun  and  toddy  seemed 
to  be  mixed  half  and  half;  "but  I  have  directed 
several  young  gentlemen  to  Priest  Bulkley's  in  my 
time,  though  it  is  a  good  while  since  the  last  one. 
I  know  how  they  look,  sir  :  there 's  no  mistaking  'em." 
And  he  chuckled  till  I  felt  inclined  to  close  up  the  one 


10  WENSLEY. 

organ  he  had  left  for  making  such  observations  on 
the  rising  generation  under  difficulties.  But,  restrain 
ing  my  wrath,  I  contented  myself  with  saying,  — 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  the  devil  you  have 
to  do  with  my  affairs,  sir.  If  you  can  answer  my 
question  without  any  more  impertinence,  answer  it ; 
if  not,  I  will  try  and  find  my  way  by  myself." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  replied  the  Yankee 
Boniface  ;  "  I  meant  no  offence.  I  know  that  young 
gentlemen  will  get  into  scrapes,  sir ;  though  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  beauty  of  a  scholar  is  to  keep  out  of 
the  scrapes,  sir.  Not  a  bad  scrape,  I  hope,  sir  ?" 

"  Go  to  the  devil ! "  I  bounced  out  in  a  towering 
passion,  and  at  the  same  time  bounced  out  of  the 
tavern-door  to  find  my  own  way.  But  I  soon  heard 
the  inquiring  Major  hobbling  after  me  ;  for  he  was 
damaged  in  one  leg  as  well  as  in  his  visual  orb. 

" I  say,  sir,"  he  called  out  after  me,  —  "I  say,  sir, 
don't  be  mad  with  a  fellow.  I  meant  no  harm.  Why, 
Judge  Waldo,  and  Parson  Tisdale,  and  General  Shaw, 
and  half  a  dozen  others  I  could  tell  you  of,  have  been 
sent  to  the  old  priest  since  I  have  lived  here,  just  as 
you  are  now,  and  nobody  thinks  any  the  worse  of  'em 
for  it.  Halloo,  sir ! "  he  exclaimed,  seeing  me  only 
hurry  on  the  faster  to  get  out  of  the  reach  of  the 
catalogue  of  my  illustrious  predecessors,  — "  halloo, 
sir !  You  ain't  going  the  right  way !  You  '11  bring  up 
at  old  Dr.  Fitch's,  in  Southfield,  instead  of  Priest 
Bulkley's,  the  way  you  're  going.  But  perhaps  he  'd 
do  just  as  well." 


HOW   I   CAME   TO   GO   TO   WENSLEY.  11 

This  brought  me  up  standing ;  and  I  soon  put  my 
course  about,  and  returned  to  the  tavern-door,  the 
Major  talking  all  the  while  without  stopping  to  draw 
breath,  or  even  to  spit.  When  at  the  door,  summon 
ing  all  the  dignity  of  incensed  nineteen  into  my  face, 
I  said,  — 

"  Now,  sir,  I  will  thank  you  to  put  me  in  my  way 
without  any  more  words." 

"  Can't  be  done  without  'em,  sir,"  replied  my  im 
perturbable  tormentor;  "must  use  'em,  unless  I  go 
along  with  you.  Perhaps  I  had  better." 

"Tell  me  the  way,  if  you  can,  and  be  hanged  to 
you  ! "  I  exclaimed  in  a  rage.  "  I  want  none  of  your 
company.  I  've  had  enough  of  it  already." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  replied  the  placable  man  of  war 
with  perfect  good-humor ;  "  you  will  just  keep  straight 
on  through  the  village  till  you  corne  to  the  meeting 
house  ;  and  the  priest's  house  is  the  third  beyond  it, 
on  your  left  hand,  just  at  the  head  of  the  road." 

"And  why  could  you  not  have  told  me  this  an 
hour  ago  ? "  said  I,  setting  off  at  a  round  pace,  the 
Major  sending  his  winged  words  after  me  as  long  as 
I  was  within  hearing,  and  I  dare  say  a  good  while 
longer. 

"  You  '11  find  the  parson  at  home,  sir.  I  saw  him 
ride  by  just  before  you  came ;  and  if  his  old  horse 
has  n't  fell  to  pieces,  he  's  to  home  by  this  time.  I  '11 
take  good  care  of  your  trunk,  sir.  The  priest  '11  send 
black  Jasp  after  it  for  you.  Hope  you  '11  give  me  a 
call,  sir.  Best  of  wine  and  spirits.  No  such  flip  in 


12  WEXSLEY. 

the  country,  sir,  nor  punch,  neither.  Priest  Bulkley 
tries  to  keep  his  scholars  away  from  me  ;  but  it 's  of 
no  use,  sir.  They  will  come.  And  so  will  you,  I 
hope,  sir,"  etc. 

And,  when  I  turned  my  head  to  transfix  the  loqua 
cious  sinner  with  a  Parthian  look  of  indignant  con 
tempt,  I  saw  him  laughing  with  all  his  might  as  he 
halted  back  to  his  dominions.  I  felt  very  much  as 
if  I  should  have  liked  to  kill  him  just  then ;  but  we 
became  very  good  friends  before  long.  Perhaps  there 
was  more  danger  of  his  killing  me. 

So  I  passed  on  through  the  main  street  of  the  vil 
lage,  which,  indeed,  was  no  street  at  all,  but  a  coun 
try  road  sprinkled  with  farm-houses,  none  of  which 
seemed  to  have  been  built  since  the  old  French  war, 
with  fine  old  elms  and  buttonwood-trees  in  front  of 
most  of  them.  Near  the  bridge  which  spanned  the 
pretty  little  Quasheen,  which  ran  through  the  town, 
was  the  grocer's  shop,  which  also  contained  the  post- 
office,  from  which  favorite  retreat  and  the  bench  in 
front  of  it  stared  forth  whatever  loungers  the  village 
could  boast ;  but  in  sooth  they  were  not  many,  and 
were  mostly  made  so  by  the  potent  spirits  of  which 
Major  Grimes  had  boasted  himself.  But  in  those 
days  a  certain  allowance  of  topers  was  thought  as 
necessary  a  result  of  the  institutions  of  New  England, 
in  every  town,  as  a  due  proportion  of  militia  officers 
or  of  church-members. 

Just  over  the  bridge  on  the  other  side  of  the  way, 
"  under  a  spreading  chestnut-tree,"  stood  the  village 


HOW  I   CAME  TO   GO   TO   WENSLEY.  13 

smithy,  which  was  about  the  only  other  place  that 
showed  signs  of  animation,  with  its  glowing  forge, 
flying  sparks,  regular  sharp  strokes  that  made  the 
anvil  quiver,  and  with  the  farmers  waiting  with  their 
horses  and  wagons  for  their  turn  of  the  Cyclopean 
art.  Still,  so  rare  was  the  sight  of  a  stranger  that 
for  a  moment  even  the  anvil  had  rest,  and  the  weary 
lungs  of  the  bellows  ceased  to  fan,  like  the  breath  of 
a  mischief-maker,  fires  that  were  hot  enough  before 
into  tenfold  fury,  while  they  all  took  a  good  look  at 
me,  and  then,  no  doubt,  discussed  all  the  possibilities 
of  my  personal  identity  and  antecedents,  substantially 
very  much  as  such  phenomena  are  treated  in  the 
bow-windows  of  English  clubs  or  the  smoking-rooms 
of  American  hotels. 

I  soon  (fame  to  the  meeting-house,  leaving  which 
on  my  left  hand,  I  approached,  much  faster  than  I 
liked,  my  destination.  The  parsonage  was  full  in 
sight  of  the  meeting-house  ;  but  though,  as  the  Major 
had  informed  me,  there  were  but  two  houses  between 
them,  it  was  a  good  third  of  a  mile  to  it.  The  road 
taking  a  bend  just  there,  the  ministers  had  apparently 
taken  it  up  as  a  good  raking  position,  commanding 
the  church  and  the  green  about  it,  and  thus  serving 
as  a  sort  of  outpost,  or  tower  of  observation,  appurte 
nant  to  the  walls  of  their  Zion.  I  confess  that  I  did 
not  regard  the  edifice  before  me  with  any  violent 
emotions  of  pleasure.  To  be  delivered  up  for  nine 
mortal  months  to  the  tender  mercies  of  a  Calvinistic 
minister  of  the  very  straitest  sect  (for  such  I  had  as- 


14  WENSLEY. 

certained  him  to  be),  seemed  rather  a  severe  retribu 
tion  for  one  night  of  supping  philosophy.  But  it  is 
in  vain  to  contend  with  inexorable  fate.  I  strode  on, 
resolving  to  face  mine  with  the  best  grace  I  could. 
But,  as  often  happens,  I  found  the  frown  which  I 
had  dreaded  turn  into  a  most  attractive  smile.  For 
this  acquaintance  thus  forced  upon  me,  and  thus  un 
promising  in  anticipation,  proved  one  of  the  chiefest 
pleasures  of  my  youth  and  early  manhood,  and  ended 
in  a  friendship  which  lasted  as  long  as  his  life,  and 
which  certainly  was  not  buried  with  him.  But  I 
am  now  close  upon  him,  and  will  introduce  him  to 
the  reader  as  soon  as  I  have  made  his  acquaintance 
myself.  A  new  chapter,  however,  is  the  least  com 
pliment  I  can  pay  to- either  party. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

THE  MINISTER  AND   HIS    MAN. 

'"THHE  parsonage  was  merely  a  plain,  unpainted 
•*•  farm-house  some  hundred  and  fifty  years  old, 
with  its  roof  sloping  to  the  ground  behind,  and  over 
grown  with  moss.  The  grass  grew  green  up  to  the  broad 
doorstone,  which  was  divided  from  the  high-road  by 
no  fence.  The  house  was  overshadowed  by  a  mag 
nificent  elm,  which  had  taken  root  apparently  before 
Columbus  had  begun  to  dream  of  a  western  passage 
to  the  India  of  Marco  Polo  and  Sir  John  Mandeville. 
On  a  rough  seat  which  ran  round  this  tree  sat  a 
gentleman,  who,  I  knew  at  the  first  glance,  must  be 
my  fate  for  nine  months  at  least.  As  I  approached 
near  enough  to  give  him  assurance  that  my  visit  was 
meant  for  him,  he  laid  aside  the  pipe  with  which  he 
was  solacing  himself,  and  rose  to  receive  me.  He 
advanced,  erect  and  a  little  formal,  but  with  an  air 
of  one  that  had  seen  the  world,  for  which  I  was  not 
prepared,  as  I  knew  nothing  of  his  history.  His 
dress,  I  am  bound  to  say,  bore  no  marks  of  inordi 
nate  care,  and  possibly  might  have  been  the  better 
for  a  judicious  application  of  needle  and  thread  in 
some  of  its  departments.  But,  for  all  that,  he  had 
eminently  the  look  of  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school. 


16  WENS  LEY. 

The  hat  which  he  raised  when  I  approached  was,  I 
regret  to  say,  one  of  the  profane  round  abominations 
which  came  in  with  the  French  Revolution,  and 
which  still  deform  the  heads  of  the  nineteenth  cen 
tury.  And  it  was  his  own  white  hair  (for  he  was 
then  near  seventy)  that  it  covered. 

His  cocked  hat,  not  long  relinquished,  yet  hung 
behind  the  study-door ;  and  his  wig,  which  had  an 
ticipated  his  hat  by  some  years  in  its  flight  from 
before  the  innovating  spirit  of  the  age,  still  stood  in 
its  box  on  the  bookcase  to  your  right  as  you  faced 
the  fireplace.  His  knee-breeches,  I  rejoice  to  say,  he 
lived  in  to  the  last  —  and  for  that  matter  died  in  too. 
Later  in  our  acquaintance,  when,  in  spite  of  the  differ 
ence  in  our  ages,  — 

"  We  talked  with  open  heart  and  tongue, 
Affectionate  and  true, 
A  pair  of  friends,"  — 

Mr.  Bulkley  would  sometimes  assume,  for  my  edifi 
cation,  these  ancient  symbols  of  clerical  dignity,  and, 
with  his  gold-headed  cane  in  his  hand,  step  as  it  were 
out  of  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  every  inch  a 
minister  of  a  time  when  the  New  England  clergy 
were,  indeed,  what  M.  Kossuth  wished  the  United 
States  to  become,  —  "  a  power  on  earth.' 

Upon  my  introducing  myself,  and  presenting  the 
letters  introductory  with  which  my  Alma  Mater  had 
favored  me,  he  courteously  welcomed  me  to  Wensley, 
and  then,  glancing  at  the  document,  looked  at  me, 
with  a  comic  expression,  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye, 


THE  MINISTER   AND   HIS   MAN.  17 

over  his  spectacles,  which  he  had  donned  for  the 
nonce,  and  said, — 

"  A  festive  entertainment,  eh  ?  That 's  what  they 
call  'em  now,  is  it?  Bad  things,  festive  entertain 
ments,  Mr.  Osborne." 

"  Oh,  sir  !  "  I  interpolated,  "  it  was  quite  a  mistake ; 
a  very  innocent  affair,  I  assure  you." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  responded  he.  "  The  college 
government  is  subject  to  error,  like  all  human  bodies  ; 
and  it  is  rather  remarkable  that  they  have  happened 
to  be  mistaken  in  the  case  of  every  young  gentleman 
that  they  have  ever  sent  to  me.  Quite  a  Massacre  of 
the  Innocents,  I  do  assure  you ! "  and  he  laughed  so 
cordially  and  good-naturedly  that  I  could  not  help 
joining  him. 

"  For  all  that,  sir,"  I  replied,  "  mine  was  a  very 
harmless  business,  as  I  believe  you  will  allow  when 
I  tell  you  the  particulars ;  if,  indeed,  you  consent  to 
receive  me." 

"  It  is  a  long  time,"  he  said,  "  since  I  have  afforded 
a  city  of  refuge  to  the  ill-used  sons  of  Mother  Harvard, 
—  if  she  may  not  be  rather  entitled  to  be  called  step 
mother,  an  injusta  noverca,  you  know,  in  such  cases,  — 
and  I  had  about  made  up  my  mind  to  shut  up  my 
sanctuary  for  good.  But  may  I  ask  if  you  are  the  son 
of  the  late  Hon.  Joseph  Osborne  of  Boston  ?  " 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  be  Mr.  Osborne's  son,"  I  an 
swered  ;  "  though  he  died  before  my  remembrance." 

"  Of  course  he  must  have,"  Mr.  Bulkley  continued. 
"  But  you  have  a  trick  of  his  face  that  reminds  me  of 
2 


18  WENSLEY. 

him.  As  the  country-people  say  in  these  parts,  you 
favor  him  decidedly." 

"  You  knew  my  father,  then,  sir  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Knew  him  ?  Why,  my  dear  sir,  he  was  my  very 
old  and  very  good  friend.  He  was  a  year  before  me 
in  college ;  but,  for  all  that,  we  were  intimates  of  the 
closest  description.  Ten  thousand  pipes  have  we 
smoked  together  ; "  and  he  sighed  as  his  mind  reverted 
to  those  fleeting  joys.  "  But  our  friendship  did  not 
end  in  smoke,  if  it  began  in  it,"  he  continued,  with  a 
melancholy  kind  of  smile  :  "  it  lasted  until  he  died,  — 
too  soon  for  his  friends  and  his  country,  though  he  had 
served  both  long  and  well." 

My  heart  warmed  to  the  old  man  at  hearing  him 
thus  speak  of  my  father,  for  whose  memory  I  cherished 
the  strongest  admiration  and  reverence ;  and  I  began 
to  feel  a  wish  growing  within  me  that  he  might  accept 
me  as  an  abiding  guest  during  my  term  of  exile.  So 
I  said,  — 

"  I  hope,  then,  sir,  you  will  not  refuse  to  receive  my 
father's  son  under  your  roof.  It  would  be  a  great 
satisfaction  to  me  to  live  under  the  care  of  a  friend  of 
his  ;  and  I  will  endeavor  to  give  you  as  little  trouble 
as  possible." 

"It  is  not  the  trouble  I  am  thinking  of,  Mr.  Os- 
borne,"  he  replied  ;  "but  I  doubt  whether  I  can  make 
you  comfortable  in  my  strange  bachelor  way  of  living. 
It  suits  me ;  but  I  am  afraid  that  it  may  not  suit  a 
young  gentleman  like  you." 

I  was  proceeding  to  assure  him  that  he  need  give 


THE    MINISTER    AND   HIS   MAN.  19 

himself  no  uneasiness  on  that  score,  when  he  inter 
rupted  me  with,  — 

"  Well,  sir,  you  will  stay  with  me  to-night  at  least, 
and  to-morrow  we  will  decide  as  to  the  rest  of  the 
time.  Here,  Jasper,  Jasper ! "  he  called  out,  clapping 
his  hands,  as  the  Orientals  do  for  lack  of  bells. 

And  at  the  word,  Jasper  appeared,  issuing  from  the 
front-door.  He  was  black  as  ebony,  and  his  black 
ness  was  set  off  by  the  perfect  whiteness  of  his  hair, 
which  had  scarcely  a  perceptible  wave  in  it,  and  by 
the  glitter  of  his  teeth.  He  was  a  remarkably  hand 
some  old  man  for  all  his  complexion.  His  features 
were  more  Caucasian  than  African,  as  usually  seen ; 
his  nose  straight,  though  a  little  thicker  than  the 
Apollo's  ;  and  his  lips  not  larger  than  those  of  multi 
tudes  of  men  calling  themselves  white.  He  evidently 
came  of  a  comelier  race,  such  as  travellers  assure  us 
exists  in  the  interior  of  Africa,  than  that  furnished  by 
the  Guinea  coast,  the  southern  hive  from  which  have 
swarmed  the  involuntary  emigrations  of  the  negro 
race.  He  stood  two  or  three  inches  over  six  feet  in 
his  stockings,  and  was  not  at  all  bent  by  his  threescore 
and  ten  years.  He  stood  firm  and  erect,  awaiting  his 
orders. 

"  Jasper,"  said  Mr.  Bulkley,  "  you  remember  Mr. 
Osborne,  who  used  to  come  here  twenty  years  ago  ? " 

"  Lawyer  Osborne  of  Boston,"  answered  Jasper,  in 
a  tone  of  deliberate  recollection,  "  who  got  off  Pomp 
Jaffrey  from  being  hanged  in  the  year  three  ?  "  Mr. 
Bulkley  nodded.  "  Yes,  sir,  I  remember  him." 


20  WENSLEY. 

"This  young  gentleman,"  proceeded  his  master, 
indicating  me  with  the  stem  of  his  pipe,  which  lie 
had  resumed,  "  is  his  son,  and  will  spend  the  night 
here." 

"  Proud  to  see  you  here,  sir,"  replied  Jasper,  still 
remaining  perfectly  erect,  but  bringing  up  his  hand 
to  the  military  salute  in  the  most  respectful  manner. 

"  Take  your  wheelbarrow,  Jasper,  after  tea,  and 
go  and  fetch  Mr.  Osborne's  trunk  from  Grimes's. 
—  You  left  it  there,  I  suppose  ? "  turning  to  me. 

I  assented,  of  course;  and  Jasper  bent  his  whole 
body  a  few  degrees  in  token  that  he  understood 
his  orders.  He  then  faced  to  the  right  about,  and 
marched  back  to  the  parsonage.  We  followed  him 
almost  immediately,  and  found  him  rearranging  the 
tea-table  to  meet  the  rare  emergency  of  company. 
This  was  laid  in  the  study,  the  room  on  the  left  as 
you  entered  the  front-door,  and  the  only  room  occu 
pied  by  the  minister  by  day  (he  slept  in  the  one  op 
posite),  and  which  was  drawing-room  and  dining-room 
as  well.  It  deserved,  indeed,  to  be  called  the  library ; 
for  its  walls  were  covered  with  a  collection  of  books 
which  would  be  thought  large  for  a  private  one  even 
at  this  day  of  larger  things.  They  were,  like  their 
master,  of  no  very  modern  date  or  dress,  but  of  ster 
ling  and  various  merit,  —  good  substantial  friends  of 
all  ages  and  of  many  climes.  Latin,  Greek,  Hebrew, 
French,  and  Italian  were  there  good  store,  and  Eng 
lish  down  to  the  end  of  the  last  century.  There  he 
stopped ;  for,  as  he  said,  of  buying  as  well  as  of  mak- 


THE   MINISTER   AND   HIS   MAN.  21 

ing  books  there  was  no  end.  I  remember  he  had 
never  heard  of  Lord  Byron  until  I  introduced  him 
to  his  acquaintance.  And  he  would  not  like  him 
then,  in  spite  of  my  boyish  enthusiasm  for  the 
Harolds,  Manfreds,  Laras,  Conrads,  and  other  aliases 
under  which  it  was  his  lordship's  pleasure  to  disguise 
himself.  But  down  to  his  own  time  he  was  thor 
oughly  well  read,  and  a  discriminating  and  enter 
taining  critic,  though  something  odd  in  his  taste,  as 
it  was  then  accounted  oddity.  I  recollect  he  first 
brought  me  acquainted  with  old  Burton,  and  with 
Ben  Jonsoii  and  the  earlier  dramatists. 

Jasper  soon  furnished  forth  an  ample  New  Eng 
land  tea,  to  which  I  was  quite  prepared  to  do  an 
ample  justice.  But  while  I  am  discussing  in  imagi 
nation  the  excellent  johnny-cake  and  rye-and-Indian 
bread,  and  while  Jasper  waits  upon  us  with  the 
gravity  and  decorum  of  the  butler  of  a  duke,  let  me 
pause,  and  dwell  for  a  moment  on  the  images  of  the 
two  men,  inseparable  to  my  mind's  eye  as  it  glances 
back  at  those  happy  days.  Don  Quixote  and  Sancho 
Panza,  Tom  Jones  and  Partridge.  Peregrine  Pickle 
and  Pipes,  Eoderick  Eandom  and  Strap,  Uncle  Toby 
and  Trim  are  not  more  one  and  indivisible  in  the 
general  mind  of  English  readers  than  are  (with  all 
reverence  be  it  spoken)  the  E,ev.  Mr.  Adrian  Bulk- 
ley  and  Jasper,  his  man-of-all-work,  in  mine.  Maid- 
of-all-work  he  might  also  be  denominated;  for  he 
was  both  maid  and  man  to  the  worthy  minister, 
and  performed  all  feminine  as  well  as  virile  offices 


22  WENSLEY. 

in  the  household  and  domain  of  his  master.  I  do 
not  know  whether  Jasper's  cooking  and  sweep 
ing  and  bed-making  would  have  come  up  to  the 
highest  ideal  of  the  more  fanatical  of  the  sect  of 
the  housekeepers.  I  am  not  quite  sure  whether 
I  myself  should  relish  their  results  now  as  I  did 
thirty  odd  years  ago  in  the  undiscriminating  fresh 
ness  of  nineteen.  But  they  answered  Mr.  Bulkley's 
purposes;  and,  such  being  the  case,  I  shall  not  stir 
the  question  of  details,  conceiving  that  they  are 
none  of  the  reader's  business.  • 

The  fairer  portion  of  my  readers  would  have  di 
vined  by  this  time,  even  if  I  had  not  inadvertently 
let  the  fact  slip  a  few  paragraphs  ago,  that  Mr.  Bulk- 
ley  was  a  bachelor.  But  let  them  not  condemn  him 
too  summarily  or  too  severely  for  this  blemish  in  his 
character;  for  I  believe  there  was  an  excuse  for  it 
the  validity  of  which  they  should  admit,  though  I 
could  never  get  at  the  precise  facts,  as  it  was  a 
subject  to  which  he  would  bear  no  allusion.  It 
is  enough  to  say,  that,  according  to  the  unbroken 
tradition  of  Wensley,  he  had  an  early  and  unhappy 
passion  for  the  beautiful  Miss  Julia  Mansfield,  who 
was  the  toast  of  every  mess  table  during  the  siege 
of  Boston.  It  was  the  old  story  of  Crabbe's  Patron 
over  again,  as  far  as  I  could  gather;  only  that  Mr. 
Bulkley  was  not  so  easily  killed  as  poor  poet  John. 
He  came  into  Mr.  Mansfield's  family  as  tutor  to  his 
youngest  son,  Thomas  (afterwards  the  Colonel  Mans 
field  who  was  killed  by  a  shell,  in  his  tent,  before 


THE   MINISTER   AND   HIS   MAN. 


Badajos)  soon  after  leaving  college ;  and,  finding 
there  the  most  lovely  young  woman  in  the  prov 
ince, — gay,  thoughtless,  coquettish,  and  seventeen, 
—  is  it  any  wonder  that  he  found  his  fate  there  too  ? 
He  did  not  know  that  she  was  vain,  cold-hearted,  and 
selfish  (perhaps  he  never  knew  it)  until  the  mischief 
was  done. 

It  was  done,  however ;  and  poor  Bulkley  had  taken 
leave  forever  of  the  unkind  Julia  and  of  his  dream 
of  happiness,  and  was  finding  what  consolation  he 
might  in  the  pursuit  of  divinity  (a  very  different 
mistress)  before  the  war  broke  out.  At  the  evacua 
tion,  Miss  Julia  accompanied  her  father  (who,  all 
the  world  knows,  was  one  of  Governor  Hutchinson's 
mandamus  councillors)  into  exile ;  and  she  married, 
not  long  afterwards,  Colonel  Ferguson,  the  receiver- 
general  of  Jamaica.  It  was  not  a  well-assorted  mar 
riage,  and  its  history  is  not  one  that  I  care  to 
record.  The  lovers  of  Old- World  scandals  can  mouse 
out  the  details  from  the  contemporary  chronicles  of 
such  matters  for  themselves,  as  I  did,  if  they  must 
know  them.  But  the  old  Wensley  people  used  to 
say  that  the  minister  was  plunged  into  a  deeper 
dejection  by  the  news,  in  the  year  eighty- seven,  of 
the  duel  in  which  her  husband  shot  Sir  James  Carl- 
ton  on  her  account,  near  Spanishtown,  than  even  at 
that  of  her  death,  which  arrived  soon  afterwards. 
He  seemed  to  feel  it  as  a  personal  dishonor.  It 
was  a  cruel  iconoclasm,  —  that  shot,  which  broke  in 
pieces  the  idol  he  had  privily  worshipped  in  the 


24  WENSLEY. 

secret  places  of  his  heart  for  so  many  melancholy 
years. 

After  Jasper  had  cleared  away  the  tea-things,  Mr. 
Bulkley  and  I  sat  by  the  window,  and  entered  into  a 
long  conversation,  which  I  have  not  time  to  record, 
though  I  remember  a  great  deal  of  it.  We  began 
with  the  college  and  the  latest  news  therefrom,  in 
cluding,  of  course,  my  own  escapade,  which  my  new 
Mentor  did  not  seem  to  look  upon  as  a  crime  of  the 
blackest  dye.  He  laughed  merrily  at  the  details  I 
gave  him  of  my  adventure,  which  I  did,  unconsciously, 
with  as  much  freedom  as  if  I  were  talking  with  one 
of  my  own  contemporaries.  There  was  that  about 
this  gentleman  which  put  one  at  perfect  ease  with  him 
on  the  first  acquaintance,  and  there  was  nothing  in  his 
tone  or  manner  which  asserted  his  claims  as  a  superior 
by  virtue  of  age  and  experience.  Of  course,  as  in  duty 
bound,  he  stood  by  the  college  government  as  touch 
ing  the  necessity  of  inflicting  the  discipline  they  did, 
having  had  the  misfortune  to  make  the  unlucky  dis 
covery.  But  he  evidently  rather  cottoned  (to  use 
a  Fanny  Kembleism)  to  the  Deipnosophoi,  and  would 
have  thought  it  good  luck,  and  no  great  harm,  if  they 
had  all  escaped  with  a  whole  skin,  even  if  some  of 
them  should  have  done  it  with  a  full  one.  The  tem 
perance  movement  had  not,  at  that  time,  begun  to 
play  the  mischief  with  the  old  drinking  usages  of 
New  England ;  and  a  slight  convivial  exuberance 
occasionally  was  looked  upon  as  no  very  heinous 
offence  even  by  the  graver  classes  of  society. 


THE   MINISTER   AND   HIS   MAN.  25 

Mr.  Bulkley  belonged  to  a  grave  class  of  society, 
certainly ;  but  he  was  no  very  grave  member  of  it 
when  he  unbent  himself  from  the  serious  business  of 
his  profession.  A  merrier  man  "  within  the  limit  of 
becoming  mirth,"  one  does  not  often  talk  withal  in 
one's  journey  through  this  working-day  world.  I 
think  he  had  the  finest  voice  for  a  story  (and,  like 
most  of  his  cloth  at  that  time,  he  abounded  in  them) 
that  I  ever  heard.  It  was  as  good  fun  as  seeing 
Mathews  to  hear  him  tell  one.  And  then  his  laugh  ! 
He  did  indeed  "  laugh  the  heart's  laugh,"  before  which 
no  blue  devils,  however  resolute,  could  hold  their 
ground.  From  this  latest  piece  of  college  history  he 
made  a  transition  to  his  own  times,  and  told  many 
piquant  anecdotes  concerning  the  customs  of  those 
times  and  the  adventures  of  men  afterwards  famous. 
The  hardest  sort  of  drinking  seemed  to  have  been 
quite  the  general  rule  of  his  day;  and  his  stories 
showed  that  some  advances  had  been  made  in  refine 
ment,  at  least,  between  his  time  and  mine.  The 
Deipnosophoi,  I  am  happy  to  say,  could  furnish  no 
parallels  to  some  of  the  instances  he  related  of  the 
potatory  achievements  of  our  grandfathers.  I  had 
begun  a  paragraph  to  tell  of  some  of  them ;  but,  on 
the  whole,  I  believe  I  will  not  "  draw  their  frailties 
from  their  dread  abode."  Let  one  brief  specimen,  by 
no  means  one  of  the  best  or  the  most  characteristic, 
suffice. 

"  I  remember  poor  Tom  Frost,"  said  he,  "  whom 
you  must  have  heard  of.  He  turned  Democrat ;  and 


26  WENSLEY. 

Jefferson  sent  him  consul  to  Tripoli,  where  he  died 
of  the  plague."  I  intimated  that  I  had  heard  him 
mentioned;  and  Mr.  Bulkley  continued,  "I  remem 
ber,  one  Commencement  Day,  he  fell  into  the  com 
pany  of  a  set  of  jolly  blades,  —  being,  in  general,  a 
very  steady-going  fellow,  —  and  got  most  undeniably 
and  unequivocally  drunk.  It  was  with  some  difficulty 
that  he  was  put  to  bed ;  but  at  last  lie  was  fairly 
between  the  sheets,  and  we  thought  he  was  disposed 
of  for  the  night.  But  we  had  not  been  gone  long, 
when  we  heard  a  heavy  sound  in  his  chamber,  and, 
hastening  thither,  found  that  he  had  fallen  out  of  bed. 
After  replacing  him,  one  of  his  friends  remonstrated 
pretty  sharply  with  him  for  giving  us  this  new  trouble. 
'  Why,  I  '11  tell  you  how  it  was,  fellows/  said  poor 
Tom  with  drunken  gravity ;  '  it  was  not  my  fault.  I 
held  on  to  the  cursed  bed  as  long  as  it  could  be  done. 
For,  as  soon  as  you  had  gone  out,  it  began  to  whirl 
round  one  way,  and  then  it  spun  round  the  other  ;  and 
then  the  head  of  the  bed  was  lifted  up  to  the  ceiling, 
and  then  the  foot ;  and  then  it  rocked  from  one  side 
to  the  other  like  a  raving-distracted  cradle.  And  I 
held  on  to  it  like  a  good  fellow.  It  could  n't  shake  me 

out,  let  it  do  its  worst.     But,  when  the  d d  thing 

turned  upside  down,  the  devil  himself  could  hold  on 
no  longer,  and  no  more  could  I ! "  And  the  minis 
ter  laughed  his  musical  laugh  till  all  rang  again. 

"  Your  friend,"  said  I,  "  certainly  fulfilled  the  con 
ditions  laid  down  by  an  English  Cantab  in  Blackwood 
lately,  who  says  that  he  thinks  it  most  unfair  and 


THE  MINISTER  AND  HIS  MAN.  27 

ungenerous  to  call  a  man  drunk  as  long  as  he  can 
hold  on  by  the  sheets.  But,  if  he  will  persist  in 
tumbling  out  of  bed  as  fast  as  you  put  him  into 
it,  then  the  most  candid  must  admit  that  it  is  no 
abuse  of  language  or  of  charity  to  pronounce  him 
drunk." 

Mr.  Bulkley  laughed,  and  the  conversation  took  a 
new  departure,  and  ranged  far  and  wide  over  books 
and  politics,  and  Old-World  family  histories,  until  the 
late  summer  evening  closed  in  about  us.  After  it 
grew  dark,  Jasper  entered,  holding  one  of  his  own 
dips  in  his  hand,  with  which  he  made  a  sort  of  mili 
tary  salute  to  me,  saying,  "  Your  trunk  is  in  your 
chamber,  sir,"  arid  then,  placing  his  candle  on  a  stand 
near  the  opposite  window  (for  the  study  filled  the 
entire  breadth  of  the  house,  having  windows  on  the 
two  sides),  and  taking  a  large  folio  from  a  lower  shelf, 
put  on  his  heavy  iron-bound  spectacles,  and  set  him 
self  diligently  to  read  it.  It  was  evident,  from  the 
perfect  simplicity  with  which  it  was  done,  that  it  was 
nothing  out  of  the  common  course  of  events ;  but  it 
took  all  my  scanty  stock  of  good  breeding  to  conceal 
the  astonishment  I  felt  at  such  a  phenomenon.  Had 
the  minister's  old  horse  (which,  like  Yorick's,  was 
"  full  brother  to  Eozinante,  as  far  as  similitude  con 
genial  could  make  him  " )  walked  in  from  the  stable, 
and  squatted  himself  on  his  haunches,  like  a  Hou- 
yhnhm,  beside  me,  I  could  not  have  been  more  taken 
aback.  I  fully  assented  to  the  general  reputation 
which  pronounced  Parson  Bulkley  a  very  odd  man. 


WENSLEY. 

Poor  Jasper  read,  with  the  help  of  his  forefinger 
and  with  a  laborious  murmur  of  the  lips,  like  one 
whose  reading  had  not  "  come  by  nature,"  but  by 
hard  work,  after  he  was  grown  up ;  and  I  had  a  sus 
picion  that  this  lecture  was  rather  for  my  edification 
than  for  his  own,  though,  when  I  discovered  after 
wards  that  it  was  a  volume  of  "Hakluyt's  Voyages" 
he  was  encountering,  I  was  somewhat  shaken  in  it. 
There  was  a  comical  expression  in  Mr.  Bulkley's  eye, 
too,  which  showed  that  he  was  not  without  the  same 
surmise.  We  talked  on,  without  regarding  Jasper's 
presence,  until  nine  o'clock,  when  the  minister  read 
a  chapter  in  the  Bible,  and  prayed,  according  to  the 
ancient  custom  of  New  England.  After  prayers,  Jas 
per  put  up  his  book,  and  took  himself  and  his  dip  off 
to  bed,  making  us  a  military  salute  at  the  door  by 
way  of  good-night. 

When  he  was  gone,  and  Mr.  Bulkley  had  lighted 
the  pipe,  which  was  to  wind  up  the  labors  of  the  day, 
he  said  to  me,  — 

"  I  noticed  that  you  were  a  little  surprised  at  see 
ing  Jasper  make  himself  so  much  at  home  here." 

I  made  a  dubious  sort  of  a  bow,  hardly  knowing 
whether  I  should  acknowledge  such  a  feeljng  about  a 
matter  which  was  clearly  none  of  my  business. 

"  It  was  natural  enough,"  he  continued,  "  that  you 
should  have  wondered  at  it.  But  Jasper  and  I  have 
slept  too  many  years  under  the  same  tent  for  me  to 
mind  having  him  in  the  same  room  with  me  when  he 
has  done  his  work." 


THE   MINISTER  AND   HIS   MAN.  29 

"  Under  the  same  tent,  sir  ? "  I  repeated  interroga 
tively. 

"  Certainly,"  he  replied.  "  He  has  never  left  me 
since  he  came  to  my  rescue  at  Brandywine,  when  I 
was  lying  flat  on  the  field  with  an  ounce  of  lead  in 
me,  which,  for  that  matter,  I  carry  about  with  me  still. 
The  bayonet  was  raised  that  would  have  finished  the 
business,  had  not  Jasper  despatched  the  grenadier 
that  stood  over  me,  and  carried  rne  off  on  his  back  to 
the  rear." 

"  So  you  served  in  the  Revolutionary  War,  sir  ? "  I 
exclaimed.  "  Were  you  long  in  the  service  ?  " 

"  Pretty  well,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "  I  began  at 
Lexington,  and  ended  at  Yorktown.  I  don't  know 
that  any  one  can  say  more  than  that.  You  see  that 
old  firelock,"  he  continued,  pointing  to  a  fowling- 
piece  of  formidable  length  and  venerable  age,  which 
was  crossed  over  the  fireplace  with  a  silver-hilted 
sword :  "  that  was  the  gun  with  which  I  left  Parson 
Sanborne's  study  for  Lexington  on  the  morning  of 
the  19th  of  April,  and  the  old  sword  is  one  I  picked 
up  on  the  Boston  road  that  day,  and  wore  for  the  next 
seven  years." 

"  In  what  capacity  did  you  serve,  sir  ? "  I  inquired, 
a  little  bewildered  by  this  new  flood  of  ideas. 

"  Why,  I  began  as  chaplain,"  he  replied.  "  But  as 
there  was  more  need  of  the  arm  of  flesh,  and  as  there 
was  an  especial  lack  of  educated  men  for  officers,  I 
took  a  commission  from  General  Washington ;  and  I 
ended  as  a  captain,  doing  the  duty  of  brigade-major. 


30  WENSLEY. 

My  health  was  not  firm  at  that  time,  and  I  thought 
a  campaign  would  do  me  good ;  and,  being  once  in 
for  it,  I  found  it  hard  to  break  off,  and  so  kept  on  to 
the  end." 

"  And  Jasper  ?  "  I  suggested. 

"  Oh,  Jasper  was  born  the  slave  of  Colonel  Cuyler 
of  New  Jersey,  who  emancipated  him  on  his  consent 
ing  to  enlist,  and  afterwards  employed  him  as  his  ser 
vant,  a  soldier  being  allowed  to  every  officer,  for  that 
purpose.  Colonel  Cuyler  dying  of  a  fever  consequent 
on  the  exposures  of  the  campaign  in  the  Jerseys, 
Jasper  remained  in  the  ranks  until  he  was  taken  by 
me,  at  his  request,  as  my  servant.  It  was  of  some 
advantage  to  him  in  the  way  of  mounting  guard  and 
the  regular  drills ;  though  he  was  still  on  the  rolls, 
and  required  to  return  to  active  duty  whenever  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  enemy." 

"And  he  has  been  with  you  ever  since?"  I  in 
quired. 

"  Ever  since,"  he  replied.  "  And  now  I  think  it 
would  be  rather  hard  to  oblige  him  to  mope  by  him 
self  in  his  kitchen  when  he  has  done  his  day's  work. 
His  greatest  pleasure  is  to  sit  in  the  corner  of  my 
fireplace  in  winter,  and  watch  me  as  I  read  or  write. 
He  does  not  come  so  regularly  in  summer:  but  he 
comes  when  he  pleases,  and  I  think  I  should  be  a 
beast  to  deny  so  oheap  a  pleasure  to  rny  old  compan 
ion-in-arms  and  most  faithful  friend.  At  any  rate,  I 
do  not  intend  doing  so.  Indeed,  in  my  solitude,  his 
presence  in  the  long  winter  evenings,  though  not  so- 


THE   MINISTER   AND   HIS   MAN.  31 

ciety,  is  human  companionship,  and  I  am  confident  I 
am  the  better  for  it." 

I  cordially  expressed  my  concurrence  of  opinion 
on  all  these  points ;  and  then  Mr.  Bulkley,  knocking 
out  the  last  ashes  of  his  pipe  (he  never  lapsed  into 
the  later  heresy  of  cigars),  laid  it  in  its  place,  and 
proposed  to  show  me  the  way  to  my  chamber.  This 
done,  he  shook  hands  with  me  as  he  bade  me  good 
night;  and  I  lay  awake  for  some  time  after  I  had 
gone  to  bed,  ruminating  over  the  revolution  which 
the  last  fifteen  minutes  had  wrought  in  my  first  ideas 
of  the  minister  and  his  man. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  TORY  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER. 

"  TDRAYER-BELL  rung  yet,  Charley?"  said  I, 
-•-  gaping  fearfully,  the  next  morning,  awakened 
by  hearing  somebody  putting  down  my  shoes  by  my 
bedside,  and  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  black  face 
through  my  half-shut  eyes.  "Not  the  second  bell, 
I  hope." 

"  It 's  me,  sir ;  it 's  Jasper,"  said  that  worthy  func 
tionary,  as  he  moved  softly  towards  the  door.  "  The 
young  college  gentlemen  always  ask  me  that  the  first 
morning,  sir.  We  don't  ring  no  bell,  sir ;  but  master 
breakfasts  at  six,  and  has  prayers  afterwards.  It's 
just  five,  now,  sir." 

And  the  truth  streamed  in  upon  me,  with  the  sun 
through  the  uncurtained  windows,  that  I  was  an  exile 
from  college ;  that  this  was  Wensley,  and  not  Cam 
bridge  ;  and  that  the  sable  form  which  had  just  quiet 
ly  vanished  was  a  revolutionary  hero,  and  not  Charley 
Richmond,  —  a  cadet  of  an  ancient  family  of  color 
which  had  served  for  several  generations  the  wealthier 
sort  of  students  in  the  capacity  of  what  the  English 
Cantabs  call  a  gyp,  and  the  Oxonians  a  scout ;  which 
Mr.  Thackeray,  when  he  rolled  the  two  single  univer- 


THE  TORY  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER.         33 

sities  into  one  as  Oxbridge,  also  amalgamated  into  a 
skip. 

As  I  had  an  hour  before  me,  there  was  no  occasion 
for  hurrying  myself :  so  I  lay  still,  and  revolved  in  my 
mind  the  current  chapter  of  my  history.  A  quarter 
of  an  hour  was  all  that  was  thought  necessary  in 
those  good  old  days,  before  shower-baths  and  hair 
gloves,  for  anybody's  toilet:  so  I  had  time  enough 
and  to  spare.  Bless  my  soul,  I  must  have  a  good 
hour  and  a  half  to  get  myself  up  for  the  day  now ! 
These  hygienic  and  physiological  new  lights  have  a 
great  deal  of  other  people's  time  to  answer  for.  I 
lay  still ;  and,  as  I  lay,  that  mysterious  homesick 
feeling  which  always  comes  over  me  (I  wonder 
whether  it  does  over  other  people)  the  first  time  I 
wake  in  a  strange  place  took  full  possession  of  me. 
I  had  left  no  home ;  my  parents  were  both  dead ;  I 
had  neither  brother  nor  sister;  I  hated  college,  or 
fancied  I  did,  and  had  just  as  much  business  to  be 
in  Wensley  as  anywhere  else:  and  yet  I  felt  the 
strongest  disposition  to  cry  at  finding  myself  there. 
And,  if  I  did  actually  cry,  men  do  more  unmanly 
things  than  that,  and  pretend  they  are  not  ashamed 
of  themselves,  every  day  of  their  lives.  Perhaps  the 
excitement  of  finding  myself  in  a  new  place,  quicken 
ing  the  flow  of  my  ideas,  brought  these  facts,  or  the 
emotions  they  naturally  excite,  with  a  fresh  shock  to 
my  mind ;  and  surely  they  were  enough  to  make  any 
body  cry. 

But  I  am  no  metaphysician,  and  shall  make  no 


34  WENSLEY. 

attempt  to  puzzle  other  people  by  trying  to  explain 
what  I  do  not  understand  myself.  But  such  is  the 
psychological  fact,  whether  it  belongs  to  my  special 
idiosyncrasy  or  not.  I  never  felt  the  emotion  more 
strongly  than  I  did,  years  afterwards,  the  first  morn 
ing  I  opened  my  eyes  in  London,  and,  casting  them 
out  of  the  window  of  my  chamber  on  the  roof  of  the 
Adelphi,  saw  the  great  dome  of  St.  Paul's  rising,  as  it 
were,  out  of  a  surging  sea  of  fog,  and  heard  the  cease 
less  rush  and  roar  of  life  chafing  in  the  channels  far 
beneath  me.  It  was  a  moment  which  I  had  been 
looking  forward  to  for  long  years,  as  the  Christian 
pilgrim  to  that  of  the  first  glimpse  of  the  holy  sepul 
chre,  or  the  Mussulman  to  the  supreme  instant  that 
gives  him  the  vision  of  the  tomb  of  the  Prophet.  I 
had  reached  "the  Mecca  of  my  mind,"  and  yet  I 
thought  of  everything  rather  than  of  it.  I  have 
heard  it  said,  that,  when  a  man  is  drowning,  the 
whole  of  his  past  life  rushes  before  his  dying  eyes  in 
an  instantaneous  phantasmagoria.  Well,  it  seemed 
as  if  my  plunge  into  the  boiling  ocean  of  London 
worked  the  same  miracle  with  me.  The  roar  of  its 
tide  was  in  my  ears ;  but  I  heard  it  not.  All  of  my 
past  life,  especially  every  sad  and  tender  image, 
came  streaming  through  my  mind  in  a  flash  of 
thought,  and  oppressed  me  wifi  a  bitter  pang  of 
homesickness  —  Heaven  knows  why.  So  it  was, 
though  I  don't  pretend  to  expound  the  philosophy 
of  it.  But  then,  as  it  has  nothing  in  particular  to  do 
with  my  story,  it  is  of  the  less  consequence. 


THE   TORY   AND   HIS   DAUGHTER.  35 

But  the  bluest  of  devils  cannot  long  withstand  the 
genial  influences  of  early  sunlight  and  of  youth, — 
that  early  sunlight  of  life,  God  bless  it !  though  the 
benediction  is  quite  superfluous,  for  God  will  bless 
it  whether  or  no ;  and  mine  vanished  before  their 
potent  exorcism  by  the  time  I  was  half  dressed. 
And  by  the  time  my  toilet  was  finished  I  felt  no 
more  longing  to  hear  the  cracked  voice  of  the  chapel- 
bell,  or  the  stamping  to  and  fro  over  my  head,  and 
the  scuffling  of  feet  backwards  and  forwards  in  the 
entry  and  on  the  college-stairs,  —  the  familiar  sounds 
which  I  had  yearned  for  when  I  first  awoke,  —  and 
was  well  content  to  accept  in  their  stead  the  riotous 
vivacity  of  the  birds  and  the  undertoned  hum  of  the 
insects  in  the  trees  on  both  sides  of  my  chamber. 
For  it  filled  the  entire  breadth  of  the  house,  and  it 
was  not  very  broad,  for  all  that,  and  had  two  windows 
on  one  side,  and  one  on  the  other ;  the  one  behind 
occupying  a  deep  cut  into  the  sloping  roof,  and  look 
ing  directly  into  the  thick  boughs  of  a  lime-tree 
buzzing  with  insect  life.  The  walls  were  plastered 
and  white- washed  ;  a  thick  beam,  ran  lengthwise 
through  the  ceiling ;  and  so  queer  was  the  shape  of 
the  room  from  the  obliquities  of  the  roof,  that  it 
would  have  puzzled  a  better  mathematician  than  I 
was  to  calculate  its  contents.  There  was  a  strip  of 
carpet  by  the  bedside,  the  floor  (the  face  of  whose 
scenery  was  of  a  rather  rolling  character)  being  other 
wise  bare.  A  few  wooden  chairs  and  a  pine  table 
made  up  the  furniture.  But  what  cared  I  for  those 


36  WENSLEY. 

things  ?  God  made  us  men,  before  we  made  ourselves 
upholsterers ;  and  I  had  not  yet  passed  into  the  fac 
titious  and  out  of  the  natural  state. 

"Well,  Mr.  Osborne,"  said  Mr.  Bulkley  as  we  sat 
at  breakfast,  "  do  you  like  your  quarters  well  enough 
still  to  wish  to  remain  in  them  ?" 

"  I  like  both  my  quarters  and  my  company,  sir," 
I  replied,  "  and  should  be  very  sorry  should  you  deter 
mine  not  to  take  me." 

"  And  that  would  be  a  pity,"  he  said,  —  "  would  it 
not  be,  Jasper  ? "  J^per  inclined  his  assent.  "  In 
fact,"  the  minister  went  on,  "  Jasper  has  been  inter 
ceding  for  you  ;  and  the  prime  minister,  you  know, 
does  what  he  likes  at  court ;  and  I  suppose  I  must 
let  him  have  his  way." 

"  I  am  greatly  indebted  to  him  for  his  interest," 
said  I,  bowing  with  mock  gravity  towards  Jasper, 
"  and  shall  endeavor  to  show  myself  worthy  of  his 
good  opinion." 

The  minister  smiled  ;  but  his  man  took  it  all  in 
perfectly  good  faith,  and  with  serious  grace  acknowl 
edged  my  little  speech  with  his  military  salute  as  he 
stood  firm  and  erect  behind  his  master's  chair. 

"  Jasper  having  given  his  sanction  to  your  remain 
ing,"  Mr.  Bulkley  resumed,  "  and  you  continuing  to 
wish  it  after  having  a  taste  of  our  bachelor's  way  of 
life,  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  acknowledge  to  having 
no  particular  objection  to  it  myself :  so  we  will  con 
sider  that  as  arranged,  if  you  please."  And  we  shook 
hands  across  the  table  to  close  the  bargain.  Though 


THE   TORY   AND   HIS   DAUGHTER.  37 

what  he  said  about  Jasper's  consent  was  spoken  jest 
ingly,  yet  I  found  afterwards  that  it  was  literally  true 
that  he  would  not  have  received  me,  had  Jasper  dis 
liked  the  plan. 

"  As  to-day  is  Saturday,"  the  minister  proceeded, 
"  we  will  defer  our  plans  of  study  until  Monday. 
Saturday  is  my  working-day,  and  shall  be  your  holi 
day.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  get  a  little  ac 
quainted  with  the  Siberia  to  which  you  have  been 
banished.  Or  you  may  use  my  study  just  as  if  I 
were  not  here ;  or  establish  yourself  in  your  own 
chamber,  as  you  like.  We  dine  at  twelve,  and  drink 
tea  at  six ;  at  which  hours  you  will  report  yourself, 
if  you  please." 

After  which,  Jasper  brought  the  great  Bible,  and 
we  had  prayers  ;  which  done,  I  whiled  away  the  time 
as  best  I  could  with  old  books  and  cigars,  and  in 
sauntering  round  the  premises  in  quest  of  amuse 
ment,  which  did  not  seem  very  easy  to  be  found,  till 
dinner-time.  After  dinner,  as  the  sun  was  a  little 
mitigated  by  clouds,  I  set  forth  upon  a  voyage  of 
discovery  into  the  unknown  regions  round  about.  I 
passed  through  the  village,  where  my  apparition  again 
caused  a  general  suspension  of  labor,  and  variation  of 
idleness,  as  long  as  I  was  in  sight.  So  I  took  myself 
out  of  sight  as  speedily  as  possible,  turning  into 
the  road  to  your  right  just  after  you  have  crossed  the 
Quasheen,  and  winding  along  its  banks.  It  was  a 
most  charming  walk,  solitary,  shady,  with  glimpses 
of  rich  pastures  dotted  with  cattle  by  the  water-side. 


38  WENSLEY. 

There  was  no  discordant  jar  of  machinery.  The 
innocent  little  stream  had  not  yet  been  compelled  by 
the  genius  of  the  lamp  or  of  the  ring  to  help  build 
the  palaces  of  our  New  England  Aladdins  ;  it  yet 
ran  sparkling  and  dimpling  to  the  sea,  without  having 
to  buffet  with  mill-wheels,  and  to  fling  itself  headlong, 
as  it  fled,  over  injurious  dams  in  desperate  waterfalls. 
Cows  stood  up  to  the  middle  in  its  shady  little  bays  ; 
ducks  led  out  their  flotilla  of  ducklings  upon  its 
waters ;  and  swallows  dipped  in  it  with  none  to  molest, 
or  make  them  afraid.  It  was  a  delicious  walk,  as  I 
said  before. 

Here  and  there  along  the  road  was  a  farm-house  of 
the  oldest  description  of  New  England  rustic  archi 
tecture,  but  not  many  of  them.  It  seemed  as  if  this 
little  town  were  a  nook  which  the  tide  of  improve 
ment,  as  we  are  pleased  to  call  it,  had  swept  round, 
and  left  it  overlooked  in  its  haste,  leaving  it  just  as  it 
was  a  century  before.  Nor  was  this  effect  diminished 
by  a  glance  I  got  at  a  house,  having  decidedly  the 
look  of  a  gentleman's  seat,  off  at  my  left ;  for  such 
were  always  sprinkled  over  the  face  of  the  New 
England  landscape.  It  was  a  square  wooden  house, 
having  a  porch  in  front,  with  seats  on  either  side, 
flaunting  with  honeysuckles,  as  I  could  see  at  that 
distance,  with  windows  in  the  roof,  and  an  orna 
mental  balustrade  running  round  it.  The  ground 
sloped  up  to  the  house,  and,  being  fine  mowing-land, 
had  as  lawnish  a  look  as  land  can  well  have  in  our 
climate.  A  few  aboriginal  oaks  stood  singly  here  and 


THE   TORY   AND   HIS   DAUGHTER.  39 

there  ;  and  there  were  clusters  of  shrubbery  near  the 
house,  but  apparently  kept  low  for  the  benefit  of  the 
prospect.  Beyond  the  house  it  seemed  as  if  there 
was  an  old-fashioned  avenue  of  elms  running  down 
the  other  side  of  the  hill  to  parts  unknown.  I  passed 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  farther,  pondering  as  to  who 
could  be  its  inhabitants,  but  meeting  no  one  of  whom 
I  could  make  the  inquiry. 

But  when  I  had  gone,  by  my  estimation,  about 
three  miles  from  the  village,  the  clouds,  which  had  at 
first  invited  me  to  go  out,  now  more  strongly  urged 
me  to  go  back.  They  rolled  up  blacker  and  thicker, 
and  seemed  almost  to  touch  the  tops  of  the  trees, 
among  which  the  road  sometimes  wound.  There  was 
evidently  a  thunder- shower  altogether  too  near  at 
hand  for  my  advantage  :  so  I  set  my  face  homewards, 
and  made  what  speed  I  could,  though  with  little  hope 
of  escape.  I  came,  however,  in  sight  of  the  capital 
mansion  and  messuage  (as  an  auctioneer  might  say) 
just  described,  before  the  critical  moment  arrived. 
Still  I  hurried  on,  and  soon  found  there  were  other 
people  in  haste  besides  myself ;  for  just  then  I  heard 
the  sound  of  hoofs  behind  me,  and  an  elderly  gentle 
man  and  a  young  lady  on  horseback  galloped  past  me. 
As  they  passed,  they  gave  a  glance  of  surprise  at  me, 
and  presently  reined  up,  and  had  evidently  a  brief 
exchange  of  words ;  or  rather  the  gentleman  said 
something  to  his  companion,  and  I  could  see  that 
the  tassel  of  her  riding-cap  waved  an  affirmative. 
He  then  turned  his  horse's  head  towards  me,  and, 


40  WENSLEY. 

putting  spurs  to  his  sides,  pulled  up  before  me  in  an 
instant. 

"  Young  gentleman/'  said  he,  touching  his  hat  as  I 
raised  mine,  "  there  is  a  violent  shower  at  hand.  Let 
me  beg  you  to  take  shelter  in  my  house  there,"  indi 
cating  the  capital  mansion  aforesaid  with  his  riding- 
whip.  "  Pray  do  not  hesitate,  for  I  feel  the  first  drops 
already.  By  striking  across  that  field,  you  will  be  at 
the  door  nearly  as  soon  as  we/' 

He  touched  his  hat  again,  and,  wheeling  round, 
galloped  off,  and  he  and  his  companion  were  the  next 
instant  hid  from  my  sight  by  a  turn  of  the  road.  I 
was  a  bashful  boy,  and  felt  as  awkwardly  as  such  ani 
mals  are  apt  to  do  in  an  emergency  like  this.  But 
still  I  had  a  little  rather  not  spoil  my  new  hat ;  and, 
moreover,  the  thing  had  a  spice  of  adventure  about 
it  which  could  not  but  make  it  relishing :  so  I  leaped 
the  stone  wall,  and  then  "  set  down  my  feet,  and  ran," 
to  such  good  purpose  that  I  did  actually  reach  the 
house  before  the  pair  dashed  up,  just  as  the  rain  was 
coming  down  in  good  earnest.  As  there  was  no  time 
for  ceremony,  I  stepped  up,  blushing  like  the  morn, 
lifted  the  young  lady  off  her  horse,  and  set  her  down 
safely  under  the  porch.  I  had  had  some  little  practice 
in  this  line  before,  having  often  performed  this  office 

for ;  but  on  the  whole  it  is  no  concern  of  yours 

who  it  was  fur.  It  is  enough  that  I  had  had 
practice.  The  young  lady  hastily  bowed  her  thanks, 
and,  after  giving  her  habit  a  good  shake,  hurried  into 
the  house. 


THE  TORY  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER.  41 

The  gentleman,  having  given  over  the  horses  to  the 
servant  who  ran  up  to  take  them,  now  joined  me,  and 
courteously  invited  me  to  walk  in.  He  was  a  man  of 
middle  height,  and  well  proportioned,  though  of  rather 
a  slight  figure.  He  was  between  sixty  and  seventy ; 
but  as  he  wore  powder  it  was  not  easy  to  tell  to  which 
extreme  of  the  decade  he  inclined.  Perhaps  he  was 
about  halfway  between  the  two.  He  had  a  cultivated 
and  well-bred  voice,  as  well  as  deportment ;  and  his 
tones  were  more  English  than  American  in  their  mod 
ulations.  And  yet  he  did  not  look  like  an  English 
man.  His  face  must  have  once  been  very  handsome ; 
though  time,  and  perhaps  sorrow,  had  made  their  mark 
upon  it.  He  gave  one  the  impression  of  a  man  that 
had  suffered,  and  through  suffering  had  lived  more 
than  his  years.  He  led  me  into  a  good-sized  and 
well-furnished  room  on  the  right  of  the  hall-door,  and 
then  through  a  narrow,  arched  door,  by  the  farther 
side  of  the  fireplace,  into  a  larger  back  room,  which 
appeared  to  be  his  library,  though  his  collection  was 
not  much.  Here  I  found  a  wood-fire  burning,  though 
it  was  hot  summer,  but  which,  nevertheless,  was  ex 
ceedingly  acceptable  to  a  damp  stranger  like  myself. 
Inviting  me  to  be  seated,  and  sitting  down  himself, 
he  said,  pointing  to  the  blaze,  — 

"  I  trust  you  will  find  this  whim  of  mine,  as  I  find 
it  is  thought  to  be  hereabouts,  not  a  bad  one  to-day. 
You  remember,  perhaps,  the  Spanish  proverb,  that 
nobody  ever  suffers  from  cold,  except  a  fool  or  a  beggar. 
And  as  I  hope  I  am  not  quite  a  fool,  and  as  I  know 


42  WENSLEY. 

that  I  am  not  absolutely  a  beggar,  I  am  resolved  to 
guard  myself  against  the  inclemency  of  your  summers 
as  well  as  of  your  winters." 

"  My  winters ! "  thought  I  to  myself :  "  I  should 
suppose  they  were  as  much  yours  as  mine,  my  good 
sir."  But  I  said,  "  Many  people,  I  believe,  sir,  would 
be  glad  to  imitate  your  example,  if  they  had  but  the 
strength  of  mind." 

He  smiled,  and  said,  "  Indeed,  it  does  require  some 
resolution.  I  know  I  had  to  put  forth  a  good  deal 
before  I  could  overcome  the  opposition  of  Mrs.  War 
ner,  my  housekeeper.  She  would  have  put  out  all 
my  fires  on  the  first  of  May,  and  not  allowed  me 
another  spark  until  the  first  of  November,  had  I 
not  raised  an  insurrection  in  the  house," 

"  Your  victory  seems  to  have  been  complete,  sir," 
said  I. 

"  Oh,  a  perfect  Waterloo,  my  dear  sir ! "  he  replied  ; 
"  and  that,  although  my  undutiful  child  was  inclined 
to  side  with  the  enemy.  A  diversion  from  my  own 
camp,  by  Jove  !  " 

"  His  child ! "  thought  I  again ;  "  then  she  is  his 
daughter !  Well,  it 's  much  better  than  being  his 
wife."  But  I  said,  "  I  am  sure,  sir,  I  have  reason 
to  rejoice  at  your  courage  and  success.  And  I  ima 
gine  the  young  lady  herself  would  not  be  disposed 
to  question  your  wisdom,  any  more  than  your  gen 
eralship,  this  afternoon." 

"  I  dare  say  not/'  he  rejoined.  "  I  wonder  she  has 
not  come  down  yet.  I  think  that  she  likes  my  fire, 


THE  TORY  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER.        43 

as  well  as  myself,  in  her  heart ;  for  I  often  find  her 
nestling  down  by  it  in  the  mornings  and  evenings. 
Jupiter  !  what  a  Hash  !  " 

And  it  was  a  flash  indeed,  followed  by  an  almost 
simultaneous  crash  of  long-rattling  thunder.  We 
instinctively  rose,  and  approached  the  window ;  but 
the  darkness  of  the  shower  had  settled  down  again 
over  the  landscape,  almost  as  black  as  night ;  while 
the  heavy  drops  fell  like  shot  on  the  roof,  and 
poured  down  on  all  sides  in  sheets,  the  spouts  being 
entirely  unequal  to  the  occasion. 

"  That  flash  struck  not  far  off,"  observed  my  host. 
"  I  hope  it  has  done  my  trees  no  damage." 

"Your  hope  comes  too  late,  papa,"  said  a  voice 
behind  us ;  "  for  I  saw  one  of  the  oaks  on  the  lawn 
struck  as  I  came  down  stairs." 

"Not  the  Sachem's  Oak!"  exclaimed  papa.  "I 
had  almost  as  lief  have  had  the  house  struck  as 
that." 

"  I  believe  not,"  she  returned ;  "  but  I  could  not 
tell  certainly,  it  is  so  thick  and  dark.  I  think  it 
was  the  next  one  to  it." 

"  I  will  go  and  see,"  he  said  quickly,  "  if  this 
gentleman  will  excuse  me."  And,  without  waiting 
to  see  whether  I  would  or  not,  he  hurried  out  of  the 
room. 

I  have  had  greater  calamities  befall  me  since  then 
than  being  left  alone  with  a  pretty  woman.  In  fact, 
I  have  long  since  ceased  to  regard  it  as  a  misfortune 
at  all.  But,  at  that  particular  juncture  of  my  life, 


44  WENSLEY. 

I  would  a  little  rather  that  papa  had  remained  with 
us.  I  was  getting  on  pretty  well  with  him  ;  and, 
with  him  to  back  me,  I  think  I  could  have  en 
countered  this  new  form  of  danger  with  tolerable 
presence  of  mind.  And  I  must  do  the  enemy  the 
justice  to  say  that  she  did  not  seem  to  have  any 
particularly  hostile  designs  towards  me.  She  seated 
herself  near  the  fire,  but  yet  sidewise  to  it,  and  with 
her  face  turned  round,  looking  out  of  the  window 
at  the  driving  storm  with  an  abstracted  air,  as  if 
she  were  thinking  not  much  of  that,  and  still  less 
of  poor  me.  I  don't  know  whether  her  attitude 
as  I  have  described  it  will  appear  to  have  been  a 
graceful  one  to  my  readers ;  but,  if  it  do  not,  they 
may  be  assured  it  is  entirely  their  fault  or  mine. 
The  attitude  was  perfect,  and  the  more  perfect  be 
cause  entirely  unstudied  and  unconscious. 

"  And  so  she  was  handsome  ? "  you  will  all  say. 
Handsome !  to  be  sure  she  was.  Do  you  suppose 
I  should  be  writing  about  her  at  this  present  if  she 
had  not  been  ?  Currer  Bell  may  broach  and  preach 
her  damnable  heresy  of  homely  heroines  with  pug 
noses  and  carroty  hair,  if  she  please.  The  repub 
lic  of  letters  has  no  established  church;  and,  if  she 
can  build  up  a  sect  on  that  foundation,  she  may. 
But  I  belong  to  the  good  old  orthodox  school. 
None  of  your  Jane  Eyres  or  Lucy  Snowes  for  my 
money !  To  be  sure,  this  is  not  a  novel,  but  a  vera 
cious  history;  and  so  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 
tell  the  simple  truth.  But  I  might  have  held  my 


THE  TORY  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER.         45 

tongue,  I  suppose.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  talk 
nowadays  about  woman's  rights,  and  I  am  told 
clever  things  are  written  about  them  on  both  sides. 
And  then  reverend  gentlemen  write  treatises  on 
"  the  true  sphere  of  woman,"  and  "  woman's  mis 
sion,"  "the  duty  of  woman,"  and  so  on.  Now,  I 
am  a  practical  philosopher,  and  never  meddle  with 
abstract  discussions ;  but  my  private  notion  of  the 
sphere,  the  mission,  and  the  duty  of  woman,  is,  that 
every  woman  ought  to  be  handsome.  It  is  a  duty 
she  owes  to  society.  That 's  my  simple  moral  phi 
losophy,  and,  till  somebody  can  show  me  a  better, 
I  shall  stand  by  it. 

I  think,  if  you  could  have  seen  my  heroine,  —  for 
the  dullest  reader  must  have  discovered  before  this 
that  we  have  found  my  heroine  at  last,  —  you  would 
have  acknowledged  that  she  filled  her  sphere,  ful 
filled  her  mission,  and  performed  her  duty ;  for  she 
was  marvellously  handsome.  But  I  am  not  going 
to  give  an  inventory  of  her  charms.  It 's  of  no 
use  ;  and  I  do  not  intend  making  a  fool  of  myself 
by  making  the  attempt.  All  I  shall  say  is,  that 
her  hair  was  of  a  tinge  very  uncommon  in  America, 
and  what  I  suppose  poetical  people  mean  when  they 
talk  about  "  golden  locks "  and  "  sunny  tresses " 
(not  red;  I  vow  and  protest  it  was  not  red;  the 
most  malicious  rival  could  not  have  called  it  so) ; 
while  her  eyes  and  eyelashes  were  as  near  black  as 
they  could  be  without  actually  being  so.  Her  com 
plexion  was  the  veritable  peau  de  lys,  as  smooth  and 


46  WENSLEY. 

pure  as  the  petal  of  a  lily,  and,  though  with  the 
expression  of  perfect  health,  generally  as  colorless. 
But,  when  passion  or  emotion  did  summon  the 
"blushing  apparitions"  into  her  cheek,  it  was  a 
sight,  indeed,  that  Eaphael  might  have  dreamed  of. 
And  as  to  her  mouth  and  her  teeth,  if  nature  or  art 
could  have  improved  upon  them,  I  should  like  to  see 
the  handiwork. 

"  Quivi  due  filze  son  di  perle  elette, 

Che  chiude  e  apre  un  bello  e  dolce  labro." 

And  I  would  go  a  good  way  to  see  a  finer  arm  and 
hand  and  foot  than  hers.  But  I  won't  describe  her. 
Only  I  will  say  that  the  effect  of  the  contrast  of  her 
dark  eyes  with  her  hair  and  skin  was  as  odd  as  it 
was  fine.  I  have  never  seen  more  than  two  or  three 
of  the  kind  in  the  course  of  a  pretty  extensive  and 
careful  study  of  the  subject. 

I  thought  I  must  say  something,  though  I  dare  say 
she  would  not  have  missed  it,  if  I  had  not ;  and  so  I 
ventured  to  suggest,  — 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  afraid  of  thunder  and  light 
ning." 

"  What,  I  ? "  she  exclaimed,  starting  from  her  revery, 
and  turning  towards  me.  "  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  I  delight 
in  them." 

Delight  in  thunder  and  lightning!  I  must  say 
I  could  not  sympathize  with  my  fair  friend  in  this 
taste.  I  have  not  learned  to  like  those  unpleasant 
explosions  yet,  and  had  still  less  fancy  for  them  then. 
But  the  horrid  idea  flashed  into  my  mind  that  she 


THE  TORY  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER.        47 

might  suspect  as  much.  So  turning  with  as  com 
posed  an  air  as  I  could  command  to  a  portrait  which 
hung  over  the  fireplace,  but  which  I  could  see  but 
very  indistinctly  in  the  gloom  of  the  day  and  the 
room,  I  said,  — 

"  A  portrait  of  your  father,  I  presume  ? " 
"A  portrait  of  papa!"  she   replied,   smiling,  and 
shaking  her  head.     "  Oh,  dear,  no  !     Don't  you  recog 
nize  it  as  that  of  his  late  Majesty  ? " 

His  late  Majesty !  Old  Farmer  George,  whom 
Byron  had  just  left  practising  the  Hundredth  Psalm 
when  his  "  Vision  of  Judgment"  ended ;  whose  only 
merit,  according  to  the  same  infallible  authority,  was 

"  That  household  virtue,  most  uncommon, 
Of  constancy  to  a  bad,  ugly  woman"  — 

what  business  had  he  here,  in  the  heart  of  his  re 
volted  province  ?  Who  could  these  people  be  ?  Be 
fore  I  could  ponder  this  problem  further,  the  master 
of  the  house  came  in,  saying, — 

"  It  was  not  the  Sachem's  Oak,  my  dear,  but  the 
old  one  I  have  been  trying  to  persuade  myself  to  cut 
down  these  two  years.  But  the  lightning  has  taken 
it  into  its  own  hands  now,  and  has  settled  the  ques 
tion  forever.  It  is  breaking  away,  however,  and  the 
shower  is  passing  off  to  the  westward.  I  have  not 
heard  such  thunder  since  that  storm  among  the  Ber 
nese  Alps." 

The  Bernese  Alps!  Had  they  been  there  too  ?  I 
looked  at  them  with  new  respect;  for  you  will  re 
member  foreign  travel  was  not  as  vulgar  then  as  it 


OF  - 


48  WENSLEY. 

has  become  since.  It  was  a  distinction,  at  that  time, 
to  have  been  abroad  :  now,  the  distinction  is  to  have 
staid  at  home.  We  have  become  a  match  for  the 
English  in  our  migratory  habits.  James  Smith,  I 
believe  it  was,  who  said,  apropos  to  their  invasion  of 
the  Continent  after  it  was  first  opened,  that  soon 
there  would  be  a  sight  set  up  of  an  Englishman  who 
had  not  been  to  Eome.  I  should  think  it  might 
be  worth  Mr.  Barnum's  while  to  add  to  his  other 
curiosities  an  American  who  had  not  overrun  Europe. 
But  he  must  make  haste,  though,  or  there  will  not  be 
one  left  to  be  caught. 

This,  however,  gave  us  something  to  talk  about, 
or  rather  for  him  to  talk,  and  for  me  to  listen  about. 
He  talked  like  a  man  of  sense  and  education  ;  and  I 
should  have  been  well  content  to  have  listened  to 
him,  and  to  have  looked  at  his  daughter,  for  an  in 
definite  time.  She  took  no  part  in  the  conversation, 
except  when  appealed  to  by  her  father,  but  sat  look 
ing  abstractedly  into  the  fire.  I  could  not  but  feel 
that  she  was  not  thinking  about  me.  Indeed,  I  could 
not  flatter  myself  that  she  would  ever  think  of  me 
again  after  I  had  passed  out  of  her  sight.  I  felt 
as  "  young "  as  David  Copperfield  did  when  the 
father  of  the  eldest  Miss  Larkins  asked  him  "how 
his  schoolfellows  did." 

But,  as  we  talked,  the  storm,  which  had  "  scowled 
o'er  the  darkened  landscape,"  passed  away,  and  the 
"  radiant  sun "  extended  his  evening  beam  over  it 
with  farewell  sweet.  I  had  no  longer  any  excuse  for 


THE   TORY   AND   HIS   DAUGHTER.  49 

staying.  My  host  rang  the  bell,  and  an  elderly  ma 
tron,  whom  I  suspected  to  be  the  housekeeper,  of 
whose  leaning  to  the  anti-Vulcanian  theory  I  had 
heard,  entered,  bringing  wine.  After  partaking  of 
this  then  universal  hospitality  (for  as  yet  temperance 
societies  were  not),  I  took  my  leave  with  many 
grateful  acknowledgments.  The  young  lady  rose,  and 
graciously  returned  my  parting  bow,  while  her  father 
accompanied  me  to  the  door,  and  wished  me  a  pleas 
ant  walk. 

I  passed  on  under  the  dripping  trees  vocal  with 
birds,  and  over  the  saturated  turf  which  the  slant 
sun  glorified  into  beatific  diamonds  and  emeralds,  and 
through  the  clear,  cool,  moist  air,  but  thinking  more 
of  those  whom  I  had  left  than  of  the  sights  and 
sounds  about  me.  Nothing  had  escaped  them  which 
indicated  who  or  what  they  were.  They  had  shown 
no  curiosity  as  to  my  poor  self,  had  asked  no  ques 
tions  as  to  my  name,  home,  or  business.  They  evi 
dently  only  regarded  me  in  the  light  of  a  lad  whom 
they  had  saved  from  a  ducking,  and  should  see  no 
more.  Who  could  they  be  ?  Of  course  I  should 
pluck  out  the  heart  of  the  mystery  when  I  reached 
the  parsonage,  for  Mr.  Bulkley  must  know  all  about 
them.  So  I  made  what  haste  I  could,  and  soon 
found  myself  at  the  worthy  minister's  door. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN  WHICH  I  LEARN  WHO   THEY  ARE. 

I  WAS  soon  at  the  parsonage  ;  and,  as  it  was  too 
early  for  the  minister  to  have  relaxed  from  his 
task  of  sermon-work,  I  walked  round  to  the  garden 
at  the  back  of  the  house.  There  I  found  Jasper,  hoe 
in  hand,  whistling  merrily  as  he  waged  war  against 
the  weeds,  which  had  apparently  availed  themselves 
of  a  temporary  suspension  of  hostilities,  and  made  a 
stand  against  the  foreign  intruders  upon  their  native 
soil. 

"  Jasper,"  said  I,  "  who  is  it  that  lives  in  the  large 
house  on  the  river  road,  about  two  miles  from  here  ?  " 

"  The  big  house  with  the  two  rows  of  trees  behind 
it  ? "  he  asked,  in  his  turn. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  I.  "  There  is  but  one  that  I  can 
mean.  Who  lives  there  ?  " 

"  Queer  man,  sir ;  queer  man,  sir ! "  he  replied, 
shaking  his  head  mysteriously,  and  resuming  his  work 
with  great  gravity. 

"  Queer  or  not,"  I  answered,  "  I  suppose  he  has  a 
name,  has  n't  he  ?  " 

"  Name  ! "  he  responded.  "  Name  enough,  sir,  for 
the  matter  of  that !  Bad  name,  too,  sir." 


IN  WHICH  I  LEAEN  WHO  THEY  ARE.      51 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  then  ?  It  won't  hurt  me,  will 
it  ?  Tell  me  :  I  'm  not  afraid  of  it,"  said  I. 

"  Mr.  Miles  Allerton  is  his  name,  sir.  They  call 
him  Colonel  Allerton;  but  I  don't  think  he's  any 
business  to  be  called  so  here." 

"  Why  not  ?  Why  should  n't  he  be  called  so,  if  he 
be  a  colonel  ? "  I  asked. 

"I  don't  think  they  ought  to  call  such  sort  of 
folks  so,"  he  replied :  "  it  ain't  right.  It  makes  me 
mad  to  hear  'em." 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter  with  him,  Jasper  ? "  I 
asked,  my  curiosity  being  a  good  deal  aroused. 
"  He  's  an  honest  man,  I  suppose,  is  n't  he  ? " 

"I  don't  know  that,"  he  replied,  with  an  em 
phatic  stroke  of  the  hoe  into  the  ground.  "  We  did  n't 
use  to  think  such  kind  of  folks  none  too  honest. 
But  times  is  changed  from  what  they  used  to  be." 

"  He  pays  his  debts,  don't  he  ?  He  is  n't  a  swin 
dler,  I  hope  ?  "  said  I,  laughing. 

"  0  Lord,  yes,  sir !  He  pays  his  debts  well  enough. 
Why,  he's  the  richest  man  this  side  Boston,  they 
say ! " 

"  Well,  then,  in  the  devil's  name,  what  ails  him  ? 
He  is  n't  a  Democrat,  is  he  ? "  I  persisted ;  for  I  had 
moused  out  that  Mr.  Bulkley  was  a  stanch  Federalist 
of  the  extremist  sort,  like  most  of  his  profession  in 
New  England  at  that  time,  and  that  Jasper  was  no 
whit  behind  him  in  zeal. 

"  0  Lord,  no,  sir ! "  he  exclaimed  with  a  sort  of 
deprecating  tone,  as  if  he  had  really  gone  too  far  in 


52  WENSLEY. 

having  excited  such  a  suspicion;  "not  a  Dimocrat ! 
He  ain't  so  bad  as  that,  sir !  He 's  only  an  old 
Tory." 

I  laughed  heartily  at  Jasper's  distinction  ;  for,  like 
Yorick,  I  do  love  a  good  one,  in  my  heart.  And, 
after  all,  there  is  something  respectable  in  a  well- 
preserved,  good  old  prejudice,  always  provided  that  it 
is  old  enough.  An  old  gentleman  in  breeches  and 
hair-powder  is  a  respectable  object  in  all  eyes ;  while 
a  man  in  a  five-year-old  coat  is  one  justly  contempti 
ble  to  every  well-regulated  mind.  There  was  some 
thing  very  comic  in  this  conflict  of  prejudices  in 
Jasper's  mind.  But  on  the  ethical  theory  of  some 
body, —  I  forget  who,  —  of  doing  the  duty  that  lay 
nearest  him,  he  honestly  hated  the  Democrat  of  the 
present  generation  more  than  the  Tory  of  the  last. 

"  What  amuses  you  so  much  ? "  said  a  voice  behind 
me.  And,  looking  round,  I  saw  Mr.  Bulkley,  who 
had  come  out  to  take  a  turn  before  tea.  "  Has  Jas 
per  been  saying  something  witty  ? " 

"  Eather  wise,  sir,  than  witty,"  I  replied ;  for  I  was 
a  fierce  Federalist  too.  And  I  told  the  minister  what 
had  passed  between  us,  and  the  occasion. 

"  Ah,  that 's  one  of  the  few  points  of  difference  be 
tween  me  and  Jasper,"  said  Mr.  Bulkley,  smiling. 
"He  has  no  charity  for  the  Tories,  and  thinks  it  a 
weakness  in  people,  that  they  are  beginning  to  forget 
to  hate  them.  —  But  everybody  has  not  such  a  mem 
ory  as  you,  Jasper.  It  doesn't  last  for  fifty  years, 
generally." 


IN   WHICH   I  LEARN  WHO   THEY   ARE.  53 

"  I  shall  never  get  to  like  a  Tory,"  replied  Jasper 
doggedly,  "  if  I  live  fifty  years  more.  They  're  too 
mean." 

"  Nor  a  Democrat  either,  I  suppose,"  said  the  min 
ister,  laughing. 

"  No,  indeed,  sir  ! "  answered  Jasper,  con  spirito,  — 
"not  if  I  live  a  hundred." 

Mr.  Bulkley  and  I  laughed  again,  and  then  paced 
up  and  down,  side  by  side,  the  centre  walk  of  the 
garden,  which  was  nicely  edged  with  box,  and  hard 
with  well-rolled  gravel. 

"  So  you  took  shelter  at  Colonel  Allerton's,"  said 
he,  "  during  the  thunder- shower.  You  were  in  luck  ; 
for  it  is  not  easy  to  get  admission  there.  And  did 
you  see  Miss  Eleanor,  too  ?  " 

I  told  him  all  the  circumstances  of  my  adventure, 
and  concluded  by  begging  him  to  let  me  know  who 
these  mysterious  people  were. 

"  All  I  know  about  them,"  he  replied,  "  is  soon  told. 
You  must  have  heard  of  the  famous  Tory,  John  Aller- 
ton,  so  notorious  in  colonial  history  before  the  Bevolu- 
tion.  He  was  attorney-general,  and  afterwards  judge 
of  admiralty,  under  the  crown,  in  Hutchinson's  time, 
and  went  away  with  the  Tories.  Well,  this  gentleman 
is  his  son,  who,  at  the  time  the  siege  was  formed,  was 
in  college,  and,  not  being  recalled  in  season,  was  cut 
off  from  the  town,  and  prevented  from  joining  his 
family.  We  kept  him,  together  with  other  members 
of  Tory  families  in  the  same  predicament,  —  women 
and  children  chiefly,  —  in  a  sort  of  honorable  captivity, 


54  WEXSLEY. 

as  hostages  for  the  good  treatment  of  the  families  of 
the  patriots  who  were  detained  in  Boston.  I  was 
acquainted  with  Judge  Allerton's  family,  and  was  able 
to  make  the  young  man  more  comfortable  than  he 
would  have  been  otherwise." 

"  Was  there  no  communication  between  these  pris 
oners  at  large,  in  and  out  of  the  town,  and  their 
families,  all  that  time  ? "  I  inquired. 

"  When  a  flag  was  sent  in  or  out  on  other  business," 
he  replied,  "  open  letters,  to  be  inspected  by  the  au 
thorities  on  either  side,  might  be  exchanged.  That 
was  all  that  could  be  allowed.  I  tried  to  get  permis 
sion  for  young  Allerton  to  go  into  the  town  when  it 
became  tolerably  certain  that  it  must  be  evacuated  ; 
but  the  apprehension  of  the  mischief  that  the  British 
troops  might  do  as  they  retreated  prevented  our  part 
ing  with  any  pledge  of  their  good  behavior.  He  was 
sent  to  Halifax,  however,  in  the  first  cartel  that  came 
in  for  exchange  of  prisoners  afterwards." 

"  And  what  was  his  history  after  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"I  merely  know  its  outlines,"  replied  Mr.  Bulkley. 
"  The  British  Government  behaved  well,  as  you  know, 
to  the  loyalists  who  had  suffered  in  its  cause.  Judge 
Allerton  received  a  liberal  compensation  (though 
necessarily  not  a  full  one)  for  his  losses,  and  was 
appointed  chief  justice  of  Barbadoes,  where  he  died. 
Tin's  son,  the  only  child  he  had,  received  a  commission 
in  the  army,  and  rose  early  to  the  rank  of  lieutenant- 
colonel.  He  resigned,  however,  many  years  ago,  on 
his  marriage  with  Esther  Arbuthnot." 


IN   WHICH  I   LEARN   WHO   THEY   ARE.  55 

"  And  who  was  she,  sir  ? "  I  inquired. 

"  She  was  the  daughter  of  Peter  Arbuthnot,  another 
famous  Tory.  He  was  registrar-general.  I  remember 
her  well,  before  the  siege,  as  a  pretty  little  girl.  Her 
father  was  made  a  commissary,  and  afterwards  became 
a  contractor,  and  made  a  large  fortune  in  Mr.  Pitt's 
first  war  against  the  French  Eevolution.  This,  I  pre 
sume,  all  went  to  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Allerton ;  for  his 
only  son  died  before  him,  in  Jamaica,  of  the  yellow- 
fever.  I  knew  him  well,  poor  fellow ;  and  so  did 
your  father." 

"And  Mrs.  Allerton  is  dead  too,  I  suppose," 
said  I. 

"  Yes,  she  died,  ten  years  or  more  ago,  in  the  south 
of  England,  where  they  lived  after  their  marriage, 
chiefly." 

"  And  how  came  they  in  this  country  again  ? "  I 
inquired.  "  And  when  did  they  come  ? " 

"They  came  about  two  years  ago,"  he  replied. 
"  But  the  why  and  wherefore  I  do  not  profess  to 
know.  Mr.  Hayley,  his  man  of  business  in  Boston, 
told  me  that  it  was  to  look  after  the  landed  estates  of 
his  great-uncle,  Ealph  Clarke,  who  died  without  heirs, 
just  as  Madison's  war  began,  in  1812,  and  which 
escheated  to  the  State.  He  has  sent  in  a  petition 
to  the  General  Court,  and  is  prosecuting  it ;  but  the 
estates  are  hardly  valuable  enough  to  account  for 
such  an  exertion,  even  if  his  chance  for  getting 
them  were  better  than  it  is  like  to  be." 

"  But  how  carne  they  here  ? "   I  asked.      "  What 


56  WENSLEY. 

particular  attraction  drew  them  to  "VVensley,  of  all 
places  in  the  world  ? " 

"  Why,  I  believe  I  must  do  my  modesty  the  vio 
lence  to  say  that  I  consider  myself  a  main  cause  of 
that/'  responded  the  minister.  "  I  was  in  Boston, 
attending  the  convention,1  during  election  week,  just 
at  the  time  he  came  to  town  from  New  York,  where 
he  arrived  from  England,  and  happened  to  meet  him 
at  dinner  at  General  Bradstreet's.  He  remembered 
our  old  acquaintanceship,  which  was  renewed  the 
sooner  that  I  was  almost  the  only  one  surviving  of 
his  former  friends.  He  came  up  to  visit  me ;  and 
just  at  that  time  the  estate  where  he  now  lives 
was  for  sale.  Old  Mr.  Eemington,  whose  father 
built  it  early  in  the  last  century,  was  just  dead  ; 
and  his  third  wife,  promoted  to  be  his  widow,  pre 
ferred  living  in  Boston,  where  her  wisdom  has 
been  justified,"  he  went  on  laughing,  "by  her  mar 
rying,  the  other  day,  Dr.  Hobart  of  the  New  East 
Church." 

"And  so  he  bought  the  Eemington  estate,"  sug 
gested  I,  to  bring  him  back  from  this  episode. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  Its  solitariness  seemed  to  suit 
him ;  and  there  was  something  about  the  lay  of  the 
land  and  the  disposition  of  the  trees  which  reminded 
him  of  Walford  Hall,  his  house  in  Devonshire.  I 
flatter  myself  that  my  being  his  neighbor  was  no 
objection  in  his  eyes ;  but  I  am  quite  sure  that  there 

1  Of  Congregational  ministers,  held  that  week  in  Boston,  from 
time  immemorial. 


IN   WHICH   I   LEARN   WHO   THEY   ARE.  57 

being  no  other  within  seven  miles  was  a  still  greater 
inducement." 

"It  must  be  rather  dull  for  the  young  lady," 
said  I. 

"  One  would  think  so,"  said  he ;  "  but  she  seems 
perfectly  well  content  with  their  way  of  life.  She 
is  a  charming  creature,  although  a  most  loyal  subject, 
like  her  father,  to  his  Britannic  Majesty.  Still,  she 
has  won  all  hearts  in  the  town  by  her  beauty  and 
graciousness.  Even  Jasper  has  surrendered  to  her ; 
though  he  still  holds  out  against  the  old  Tory,  her 
father." 

"  And  is  he  the  only  one  of  the  "Wensleyans  that 
holds  fast  to  the  faith  that  their  fathers  delivered  to 
them,  —  of  hating  the  Tories  ? "  I  inquired. 

"Almost  the  only  one,"  he  replied.  "Colonel 
Allerton's  liberality,  and  kindness  of  heart,  have 
succeeded  in  driving  away  the  prejudices  and  sus 
picions  with  which  he  was  at  first  regarded.  Even 
Jasper's  professions  of  dislike  I  fancy  to  be  rather  a 
point  of  honor  than  of  feeling  with  him.  Corporal 
Berry  himself,  although  he  has  limped  through  life 
cursing  the  Tories,  ever  since  he  was  shot  through  the 
leg  at  the  time  of  Arnold's  attack  on  New  London, 
could  not  withstand  the  battery  of  blankets,  flannels, 
meat,  wine,  and  firewood,  that  was  kept  up  on  his 
citadel  at  the  north  part  of  the  town,  when  he  was 
close  besieged  by  the  rheumatism  last  winter.  He 
even  calls  his  benefactor  '  colonel ; '  which  Jasper  has 
not  made  up  his  mouth  to  do  yet,"  he  added,  laughing. 


58  WENSLEY. 

"  You  give  them  a  good  character,  sir,"  I  said. 

"  No  better  than  they  deserve,"  he  answered.  "  I 
have  unlimited  authority  to  call  upon  him  in  case 
of  any  distress  in  the  town.  And,  what  is  better,  he 
and  his  daughter  often  visit  in  person  poor  people  in 
sickness  or  other  trouble,  to  see  for  themselves  what 
they  really  most  need.  He  says  it  is  a  habit  they 
formed  at  home  —  by  which  he  means  England,  of 
course.  And  what  else  do  you  think  he  is  going  to 
do  for  the  town,  sir?"  —  and  he  rubbed  his  hands 
gleefully  at  the  thought,  —  "a  clock,  sir,  a  clock  for 
the  meeting-house  !  He  had  old  Willard  up  here 
last  month,  and  has  given  him  an  order  for  one  of  his 
best.  It  will  set  the  poor  old  thing  quite  on  its  legs 
again."  And  he  looked  affectionately  at  the  tower, 
as  if  he  beheld  in  vision  its  future  glories. 

"Deacon  Holt,"  he  went  on,  "objected  to  it  as 
unscriptural,  at  first ;  but  I  put  him  down  with  the 
dial  of  Ahaz,  and  clinched  the  argument  by  the  ex 
amples  of  the  Old  South  and  other  sound  churches  of 
Boston.  So  it  is  all  settled  now,  sir,  and  the  ortho 
doxy  of  the  clock  is  fully  established." 

And  he  laughed  out  one  of  his  ringing,  musical 
laughs,  which  I  still  hear  in  my  mind's  ear  (why 
should  not  the  mind  have  an  ear  as  well  as  an 
eye  ?  it  certainly  should  be  allowed  the  full  pos 
session  of  all  its  senses),  and  then  led  the  way 
into  the  house  to  tea.  As  the  sabbath  began  at 
Wensley  on  Saturday  night  at  sundown,  ceasing  at 
sundown  on  Sunday,  I  retired  to  my  chamber  after 


IN   WHICH  I  LEARN  WHO   THEY  ARE.  59 

tea,  and  spent  the  evening  in  preparing  an  epistle 
to  the  Deipnosophoi,  describing  the  adventures  of 
which  their  enthusiasm  for  the  vital  principles  of 
their  foundation  had  been  the  remote  cause.  This 
finished,  and  directed  to  Tom  Stacey,  the  worthy 
head  of  the  order,  I  went  to  bed  with  even  a  better 
opinion  of  Wensley,  as  a  place  of  academic  retire 
ment,  than  I  had  the  night  before. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MY  FIRST   SUNDAY  IN  WENSLEY. 

r  I  "'HE  next  morning  was  a  truly  delicious  one.  The 
-*•  shower  of  the  afternoon  before  had  cleared 
the  air,  and  breathed  a  fresh  life  of  verdure  into  the 
trees  and  grass.  White,  fleecy  Ruysdaelesque  clouds 
floated  in  the  azure  depths,  relieved  in  sharp  per 
spective  against  the  blue ;  and  their  gigantic  shadows 
gave  a  fresh  grace  to  the  landscape  as  they  glided 
over  meadow,  stream,  and  tufted  hill.  I  sat  at  my 
window,  after  breakfast,  and  revelled  in  the  affluence 
of  rural  sights  and  sounds  and  smells  which  were 
poured  out  around  me.  I  had  left  the  minister  in 
sole  possession  of  his  study,  both  that  he  might  give, 
if  he  chose,  a  finer  edge  and  point  to  the  spiritual 
shafts  he  had  been  forging  the  day  before,  to  be 
aimed  on  this  at  the  hearts  of  his  flock,  and  also 
because,  though  there  was  nothing  in  the  least  grim 
about  his  piety,  he  maintained  a  uniformity  of  seri 
ousness  in  his  deportment  on  Sundays  very  different 
from  his  working-day  manner,  which  made  it  more 
agreeable  to  me  to  sabbatize  by  myself  in  my  own 
room. 

We  often  hear  of  the  sabbath  stillness  of  a  day  or 
place ;  and  it  seems  to  be  generally  taken  for  granted, 


MY   FIRST   SUNDAY   IN   WENSLEY.  61 

because  Sunday  is  a  day  of  rest,  that  it  is  there 
fore  a  day  of  unusual  quietness.  Now,  it  was  not  so 
at  Wensley.  On  the  other  six  days  of  the  week 
the  very  spirit  of  repose  seemed  to  be  brooding 
over  the  town.  Sitting  at  my  back  window,  which 
commanded  a  lovely  bend  of  the  Quasheen,  always 
brimming  to  the  brink,  but  never  overflowing,  with 
rich  fields  sprinkled  with  timber  sloping  down  green 
and  firm  to  its  very  margin,  and,  on  the  farther  side, 
with  the  sweetest  little  wooded  knoll  lying  clasped  in 
its  embrace,  —  sitting  there,  I  say,  one  might  imagine 
one's  self  leagues  away  from  any  habitation  or  haunt 
of  men.  No  sight  or  sound  was  there  that  was  not 
intensely  rural.  The  silence  was  audible,  and  made 
only  the  more  palpable  to  the  mind  by  the  chirping 
of  birds,  the  hum  of  insects,  the  quiver  of  the  leaves, 
and  the  rippling  of  the  waters.  And  on  the  street 
side  it  was  only  now  and  then  that  an  ox-cart  came 
creaking  lazily  along  the  road,  or  a  barefooted  urchin 
loitered  whistling  by  as  he  drove  the  cows  to  pasture, 
or  home  again.  It  always  seemed  to  me  as  if  it  were 
an  outlying  dependency  of  the  Castle  of  Indolence, 
just  beyond  the  park-palings,  and  that  one  might  see 
its  dreamy  turrets  rising  above  the  woods  in  the 
distance,  if  one  would  but  take  the  trouble  to  look  for 
them.  I  dare  say  it  was  not  a  great  way  off. 

But  on  Sunday  it  was  quite  another  tiling.  Then 
there  were  sights  and  sounds  that  gave  a  human  in 
terest  to  the  scene.  As  long  as  Mr.  Bulkley  lived, 
there  was  no  schism  in  Wensley.  Methodists,  Bap- 


62  WENSLEY. 

tists,  and  Universalists  refused  to  disturb  thfe  quiet, 
of  his  parish  while  it  was  his.  But,  when  he  slept 
with  his  predecessors,  the  revolutionary  spirit,  which 
had  been  controlled  by  the  personal  affection  felt  for 
him,  broke  forth ;  and  its  monuments  are  to  be  seen 
in  three  or  four  ugly  little  wooden  conventicles,  which 
perk  their  pert  cupolas  in  the  face  of  the  good  old 
meeting-house,  like  so  many  irreverent  Quakers  or 
Anabaptists,  giving  themselves  airs  of  equality  in  the 
presence  of  an  ancient,  substantial,  steeple-crowned 
Puritan  magistrate.  But  in  my  time  there  was  no 
open  dissent.  The  meeting-house  at  the  Centre  was 
the  only  one  in  the  town.  It  was  a  large  building, 
with  two  galleries,  and  every  part  of  it  was  entirely 
filled  every  Sunday.  It  was  a  sight  which  has  not 
been  seen  in  New  England,  I  suppose,  for  twenty 
years  at  least,  if,  indeed,  this  were  not  the  last  sur 
viving  example  of  an  absolutely  unbroken  parish. 

After  the  first  bell  had  rung,  the  roads  leading  to 
the  meeting-house,  which  was  fully  commanded  by 
my  window,  began  to  be  alive  with  church-goers,  and 
to  pour  an  increasing  tide  upon  the  green  on  which 
the  building  stood.  Some  came  on  horseback,  but 
more  in  bellows-top  chaises,  or  gigs  with  leathern 
heads,  that  shut  back  with  springs,  and  had  a  certain 
resemblance  to  the  follicular  convenience  from  which 
they  derived  their  name.  A  few  were  conveyed  in 
vehicles  which  have  been  long  numbered  among  the 
extinct  races,  and  which  had  come  down  from  the 
middle  of  the  last  century.  Square-top  chaises  they 


MY   FIRST    SUNDAY   IN   WENSLEY.  63 

were  denominated,  or  gigs  with  immovable  leathern 
heads,  and  little  windows  at  the  back  and  sides. 
Some  of  them  had  a  seat  in  front  for  a  boy  to  sit  upon, 
and  drive.  But  modern  Wensley  (or  young  Wens- 
ley,  as  it  would  be  called  now)  turned  up  its  nose  at 
these  venerable  relics  of  a  former  generation,  and  (to 
anachronize  a  little  slang)  voted  them  "  slow ; " 
which,  indeed,  they  were. 

But  the  greater  part  of  the  people,  young  and  old, 
honestly  trudged  on  foot.  They  came  trooping  along 
in  families,  and  sometimes  in  pairs,  the  latter  not 
unfrequently  looking  rather  sheepish  and  conscious ; 
though  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  why  they  should. 
They  were  perfectly  well-behaved  young  men  and 
women,  for  all  I  could  see.  Arrived  at  the  church, 
the  "  leathern  conveniences  "  were  put  in  the  horse- 
sheds,  which  formed  a  sort  of  outwork  on  three  sides 
of  the  meeting-house.  The  women  all  entered  the 

O 

house  as  they  arrived,  and  were  seen  no  more  by  me 
for  the  time ;  but  the  men  remained  without,  stand 
ing  about  the  door,  or  dispersed  in  groups  over  the 
green,  discussing  the  weather,  the  crops,  or  the  next 
election.  It  was  their  weekly  exchange. 

As  I  watched  this  lively  scene,  the  second  bell  be 
gan  to  ring.  Presently  Jasper  tapped  at  my  door  to 
let  me  know  that  the  minister  was  ready  to  proceed, 
and  I  incontinently  joined  him.  The  moment  the 
door  of  the  parsonage  opened,  and  the  minister  was 
seen  to  issue  forth,  the  bell  began  to  toll,  and  the  men 
about  the  church-door  to  hurry  in.  Mr.  Bulkley, 


64  WENSLEY. 

leaning  upon  my  arm,  walked  on  erect  and  stately ; 
while  Jasper,  no  less  stately  and  erect,  followed  us,  a 
few  paces  behind,  with  a  music-book  under  his  arm. 
As  we  advanced  in  this  state,  I  saw  a  plain  carriage 
and  pair  drive  up  from  the  direction  of  the  bridge, 
and  stop  at  the  meeting-house  door.  Of  course  I 
knew  that  it  must  contain  my  hosts  of  the  thunder- 
shower.  The  horses  were  spirited  and  restive  ;  and, 
before  the  elderly  coachman  could  descend  from  his 
box,  a  white-headed  old  man  hobbled  up,  and  opened 
the  carriage-door,  and  let  down  the  steps.  The  min 
ister  pressed  my  arm,  and  said,  with  rather  a  week- 
dayish  look  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  in  a  low 
tone,  — 

"Corporal  Berry  opening  Colonel  Allertori's  car 
riage-door  !  Toryism  is  triumphant  in  Wensley,  I  'm 
afraid  —  or  would  be,  but  for  Jasper." 

A  guttural  ejaculation,  rather  emphatic  than  dis 
tinct,  and  which,  we  will  charitably  hope,  had  no 
element  of  profanity  in  it,  was  heard  behind  us,  ex 
pressive  of  the  patriotic  consistency  of  that  veteran's 
opinions.  There  was  a  slight  symptom  of  incipient 
rebellion  in  the  region  round  about  the  minister's 
mouth  ;  but  he  resolutely  quelled  the  insurrectionary 
tendency,  and  arrived  at  the  church-door  the  very 
personification  of  gravity. 

Mr.  Bulkley  strode  up  the  broad  aisle  with  majes 
tic  self-possession,  the  whole  congregation  remaining 
standing  to  receive  him.  I,  who  was  not  accustomed 
to  be  the  target 'at  which  such  volleys  of  eyeshot 


MY    FIRST    SUNDAY   IN    WENSLEY.  65 

were  directed  as  were  now  aimed  at  me,  followed  him 
with  less  ease  and  a  good  deal  more  self-conscious 
ness.  Arrived  at  the  pulpit-end  of  the  aisle,  he 
opened  the  door  of  his  pew,  the  front  one  on  the  left- 
hand  side,  and,  waving  me  into  it,  ascended  the  pul 
pit-stairs  as  a  king  might  mount  to  his  ancestral 
throne.  As  soon  as  he  had  disappeared  in  its  vast 
recesses,  a  noise  not  unlike  an  irregular  volley  of 
musketry  was  heard  over  the  house,  being  that  of  the 
seats  slamming  down,  which  had  been  turned  back 
on  their  hinges,  for  room's  sake.  It  was  a  fortunate 
hearing  for  me ;  for,  not  being  acquainted  with  this 
fact  in  the  natural  history  of  the  old  parish  churches 
in  the  country,  I  should  have  infallibly  seated  myself 
on  the  floor,  but  for  the  warning  sound.  This  same 
salute  was  repeated  every  time  that  the  congrega 
tion  resumed  their  seats  after  rising  for  any  of  the 
services,  and  was  generally  executed  with  a  fervor 
commensurate,  as  I  suppose,  with  the  warmth  of  their 
devotion. 

Jasper  I  had  missed  as  soon  as  we  entered  the 
house ;  and  I  was  pleased  to  discern  him  belaboring  a 
huge  bass-viol  in  the  choir  (for  that  innovation  had 
reached  even  the  seclusion  of  Wensley)  when  we 
stood  up  at  singing-time.  I  also  discerned  that  the 
Allerton  pew  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  aisle, 
answering  to  the  minister's.  But  devout  church-goers 
need  not  to  be  told  that  this  is  one  of  the  most  un 
favorable  situations  for  personal  observations  of  an 
edifying  nature,  that  the  economy  of  an  ecclesiastical 
5 


66  WENSLEY. 

interior  affords.  A  place  in  the  deacon's  seat  —  where 
Deacon  Holt  and  Deacon  Williams,  the  one  burly  and 
red-faced,  and  the  other  lank,  lean,  and  squinting  in 
every  direction,  sat  with  their  backs  to  the  pulpit,  over 
looking  the  audience — would  have  been  a  much  more 
eligible  position  for  enjoying  some  of  the  incidental 
advantages  of  public  worship.  As  it  was,  I  could  only 
observe  that  Miss  Allerton  was  quietly  attentive  to 
what  was  going  on ;  while  her  father,  like  an  old  sol 
dier  as  he  was,  fairly  dropped  asleep  with  a  cannonade 
of  the  heaviest  sort  thundering  over  his  head,  aimed 
at  the  errors  of  the  Church  of  England,  of  which  com 
munion  he  and  his  daughter  were  the  only  two  mem 
bers  within  a  dozen  miles.  But  the  serene  height, 
away  up  under  the  sounding-board,  from  which  he 
manoeuvred  his  ecclesiastical  artillery,  saved  the  good 
parson  from  the  mortification  of  seeing  how  his  hot 
shot  passed  over  the  head  of  the  enemy. 

Dear  old  man !  he  never  held  back  his  hand  from 
smiting  the  heretical  Philistines  that  infested  the 
region  round  about.  His  were  good  old-fashioned  po 
lemical  sermons,  well  fortified  with  texts  of  Scripture, 
and  garnished  with  quotations  in  the  original  tongues, 
which  were  none  the  less  relished  by  the  congre 
gation  because  they  did  not  understand  them.  It 
confirmed  them  in  the  faith,  which  was  only  second 
to  that  they  entertained  for  Holy  Writ,  that  lie  was 
the  most  learned  man  in  the  world.  To  be  sure,  there 
must  have  been  all  this  time  an  undercurrent  of 
heresy  loosening  the  hold  of  some  of  his  people  upon 


MY   FIRST   SUNDAY  IN   WENSLEY.  67 

their  old  anchorage,  as  we  know  from  its  breaking 
openly  forth  as  soon  as  his  restraining  power  was 
removed,  and  scattering  abroad  the  barks  which  had 
remained  peacefully  in  the  old  harbor  as  long  as  he 
had  command  of  the  fleet.  But,  during  that  period, 
no  piratical  Universalist,  nor  buccaneering  Methodist, 
ventured  to  hoist  a  flag  in  the  calm  waters  of  Wens- 
ley.  But  he  kept  his  batteries  pounding  away  at 
them,  and  at  all  dissentients  from  the  strictest  rule 
of  the  ancient  faith  of  New  England,  all  the  same  as 
if  they  were  within  point-blank  range  of  his  guns.  I 
have  often  thought  whether  this  persistent  warfare 
upon  his  theological  enemies,  and  the  constant  state 
ment  of  their  arguments,  which  was  necessary  to  give 
force  to  his  refutations,  might  not  have  had  some 
thing  to  do  in  bringing  about  that  dispersion  which 
followed  so  soon  after  his  death. 

Mr.  Bulkley  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  Calvinist  of  the 
very  straitest  sect ;  and  he  was  none  the  less  earnest 
a  one  for  having  become  such,  as  the  Quakers  say, 
"by  way  of  convincement."  He  was  born  and  bred 
in  the  Arminian,  or  Latitudinarian,  school  of  the  last 
century ;  and  when  that  form  of  faith  lapsed  into 
Unitarianism,  at  the  beginning  of  this,  he  was  at  first 
carried  by  the  tide  into  those  waters.  The  investi 
gation,  however,  which  the  Unitarian  controversy 
induced,  led  him  ere  long  to  cut  away  from  his  old 
moorings,  and  to  drop  his  anchor  where  he  thought 
it  would  take  a  firmer  hold.  But,  surely,  never  did  a 
more  genial  and  affectionate  spirit  qualify  the  severe 


68  WEXSLEY. 

necessities  of  religious  logic.  A  milder  and  kinder 
soul  never  looked  forward  to  the  ultimate  damnation 
of  the  vast  majority  of  mankind,  including  all  hea 
thendom,  ancient  and  modern,  and  all  uuregenerate 
infancy ;  for  he  was  not  a  man  to  shrink  from  the 
logical  consequences  of  his  premises.  He  pitied  the 
Unitarians ;  but  he  cordially  despised  those  divines, 
claiming  to  hold  the  good  old  Orthodox  faith,  who 
devised  ways  of  escape  from  the  stern  results  of  the 
doctrines  of  election  and  reprobation,  of  original  sin, 
and  redemption  by  grace.  He  used  to  call  them 

;  but,  on  the  whole,  it 's  no  matter  what  he  used 

to  call  them.     It  was  not  a  complimentary  epithet. 

But  not  only  did  he  keep  at  bay  during  his  time 
all  avowed  adversaries  of  the  faith  that  was  in  him, 
but  he  kept  at  a  distance,  also,  all  irregular  practi 
tioners  even  of  the  regular  school.  "  How  many  years 
have  you  preached  here,  sir  ? "  I  asked  him  one  day. 
"  I  have  reigned  here,"  he  replied,  nodding  his  head 
cornerwise  at  me,  with  an  indescribable  look  of  fun 
out  of  his  gray  eyes,  —  "I  have  reigned  here  forty 
years  save  one."  And  it  was  very  much  so.  It  was 
his  business  to  take  care  of  the  souls  of  his  parish ; 
and  he  would  have  no  assistance  but  such  as  he  chose 
to  call  in  on  his  own  responsibility.  No  strolling 
revivalist,  or  starveling  evangelist,  ever  ventured  to 
set  foot  on  the  remotest  corner  of  his  territories  as 
long  as  his  sway  lasted.  Had  he  heard  of  such  an 
incursion,  I  will  not  say  that  he  would  have  taken 
down  the  firelock  of  Lexington,  or  drawn  the  sword 


MY  FIRST   SUNDAY  IN  WENSLEY.  69 

of  Yorktown,  from  their  honorable  retirement  over  his 
fireplace,  to  vindicate  the  integrity  of  his  soil ;  but  I 
do  think  he  would  have  charged  the  invader,  at  the 
head  of  Jasper,  gold-headed  cane  in  hand,  and  driven 
him  over  the  border,  an  example  to  all  such  intruders 
for  the  time  to  come.  And  the  whole  parish  would 
have  stood  by  him. 

For  my  own  part,  I  had  many  a  sermon  launched 
at  my  head  during  the  time  I  lived  with  him,  as  I 
sat  defenceless  under  the  shadow  of  his  pulpit.  For 
I  was  (to  use  another  Quakerism)  a  "  birthright " 
Unitarian ;  and  he  doubtless  felt  it  to  be  his  duty 
to  set  in  order  before  me  the  errors  of  my  hereditary 
faith.  But  it  was  all  in  vain.  I  knew  nothing  of 
the  arguments  on  my  side  of  the  question :  indeed, 
I  could  not  well  see  that  there  was  any  such  thing  as 
standing  up  before  the  battalions  of  texts,  and  squa 
drons  of  syllogisms,  with  which  he  bore  down  upon 
me,  and  rode  furiously  over  me.  But,  though  he  could 
overrun  me,  he  could  not  keep  possession  of  me.  All 
I  knew  was  that  my  father  and  mother  had  been 
Unitarians ;  and  I  regarded  it  as  a  point  of  honor, 
binding  upon  me  as  a  gentleman,  not  to  forsake  the 
faith  in  which  they  had  lived  and  died.  I  was  by  no 
means  clear  that  my  Mentor  was  not  right,  and  that 
the  doom  which  he  so  fervidly  described  as  that  of 
all  such  misbelievers  did  not  impend  over  my  head. 
But  that  made  no  difference.  It  merely  gave  me  a 
kind  of  exhilaration  of  spirits  (I  neither  account  for 
the  phenomenon,  nor  defend  it :  I  merely  describe 


70  WENSLEY. 

the  sensation),  such  as  a  suspicion  of  danger,  or  the 
knowledge  that  he  is  considered  as  exposed  to  it,  is 
apt  to  inspire  in  a  lad  of  spirit.  And  I  rather  think 
I  was  quite  as  well  fitted  to  die  for  my  faith,  in  a 
war  of  religion,  or  at  the  stake,  as  a  good  many  heroes 
and  saints  who  have  won  for  themselves  the  crown 
of  martyrdom.  But  all  Mr.  Bulkley's  prelections  for 
my  benefit  were  confined  to  Sunday  and  the  pulpit. 
He  never  labored  for  my  conversion  in  private.  Either 
he  saw  that  I  had  a  good  share  of  that  virtue  which 
we  call  firmness  in  another  when  it  answers  our  pur 
poses,  and  obstinacy  when  it  thwarts  them,  and  so 
knew  it  would  be  of  no  use,  or  else  he  thought  that 
his  Sunday  labors  would  be  more  likelv  to  act  favor 
ably  on  my  mind  if  he  left  them  to  their  natural  in 
fluences  during  the  week,  without  disgusting  me  with 
his  zeal  by  making  it  a  perpetual  annoyance.  What 
ever  his  motive  might  have  been,  I  was  very  happy 
to  compound  for  the  result. 

When  the  services  were  at  last  over  (and  it  was 
an  at  last,  for  Mr.  Bulkley  was  none  of  your  twenty- 
minute  men),  and  the  benediction  was  pronounced, 
I  hastily  gathered  together  my  hat  and  gloves,  and 
was  for  joining  in  the  precipitate  retreat  I  had  always 
seen  expected  from  all  the  churches  I  had  ever  at 
tended  before.  But  I  had  no  sooner  thrown  open 
the  pew-door,  and  put  one  foot  out  of  it,  than  I  saw 
that  all  the  rest  of  the  congregation  remained  standing, 
with  their  faces  turned  towards  the  broad  aisle.  I 
drew  back,  and,  raising  my  eyes,  encountered  those 


MY   FIQST   SUNDAY   IN   WENSLEY.  71 

of  Colonel  Allerton,  who  stood  facing  me.  He  smiled 
at  me,  as  if  understanding  my  case  (very  likely  it 
had  been  his  own  once),  and  bowed,  as  if  recalling  our 
interview  of  the  day  before.  I  returned  his  bow,  not 
a  little  abashed  at  finding  myself  again  the  centre  of 
all  the  eyes  Wensley  had  in  its  head,  and,  abiding 
the  result,  presently  perceived  that  it  was  the  custom 
of  the  town  (once  universal  throughout  New  England) 
to  wait,  and  let  the  minister  go  out  first.  Presently 
Mr.  Bulkley  descended  the  pulpit-stairs,  not  having 
apparently  hurried  himself  at  all,  and  passed  slowly 
down  the  aisle,  bowing  royally  from  side  to  side  in 
acknowledgment  of  the  rustic  salutations  which  he 
received.  As  soon  as  he  approached  me,  he  made 
me  a  sign  to  follow  him,  and  then  shook  hands  with 
Colonel  Allerton,  who  joined  him  in  his  progress 
through  the  capital  of  his  dominions. 

It  was  a  necessary  consequence  of  this  order  of 
procession,  that  Miss  Allerton  and  I  came  out  face  to 
face  into  the  aisle.  She  graciously  returned  my  bow ; 
and  we  walked  after  the  elders,  side  by  side,  kindling 
yet  more  speculation  in  all  the  eyes  of  Wensley,  eager 
to  spy  out  what  I  could  be.  As  we  came  out  into 
the  porch,  the  two  gentlemen  remained  a  little  on  one 
side,  in  conversation,  and  I  proceeded  to  put  the  young 
lady  into  the  carriage,  which  stood  ready  drawn  up  at 
the  door.  I  hoped  that  she  had  experienced  no  harm 
from  the  shower  yesterday  afternoon ;  which  hope,  she 
was  able  to  inform  me,  had  become  fruition.  I  then 
informed  her  that  it  was  an  uncommonly  fine  day, 


72  WKNSLEY. 

and  on  this  point  I  am  happy  to  say  our  views  cor 
dially  coincided.  What  I  should  have  stated  next,  I 
can  hardly  imagine ;  for  the  congregation  were  now 
swarming  out,  and  many  were  lingering  within  ear 
shot  to  discover  what  sweet  influences  this  "  bright 
particular  star  "  of  theirs  was  shedding  upon  me  ;  and 
the  consciousness  of  this  fact  did  not  help  to  con 
centrate  my  ideas.  But,  fortunately,  just  at  that 
moment  her  father  approached,  and,  as  he  stood  with 
one  foot  on  the  carriage-step,  he  offered  me  his  hand, 
saying,  — 

"  Mr.  Osborne,  I  am  happy  to  know  your  father's 
son.  I  met  him  often,  and  knew  him  well,  at  Paris, 
when  I  was  there  during  the  peace  of  Amiens." 

I  bowed,  and  blushed  my  acknowledgments  for  his 
goodness. 

"I  hope,"  he  continued,  "that  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  Woodside  at  some  time 
when  you  can  have  a  less  stormy  reception  than  that 
you  had  yesterday." 

"I  could  not  have  a  kinder  one,  I  am  sure,  sir," 
I  replied,  "  nor  one  that  I  should  be  more  happy  to 
experience  again,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  pay  my 
respects  to  you  and  to  Miss  Allerton." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  he,  smiling ;  "  only 
without  the  thunder  and  lightning,  if  you  please. 
We  three  may  meet  again,  I  hope,  but  not,  I  trust,  in 
thunder,  lightning,  and  in  rain.  So  good-morning." 

And  they  drove  away,  leaving  me  upon  the  steps. 
And  now,  I  suppose,  the  sagacious  reader  will 


MY   FIRST   SUNDAY   IN   WENSLEY  73 

an  account  of  my  sensations  ;  for  of  course  he  (or 
she)  takes  it  for  granted  that  I  fell  fearfully  in  love 
with  the  fair  Eleanor  at  first  sight.  But  they  must 
wait  a  while.  I  am  not  quite  ready  to  go  into  the 
confessional  just  yet,  with  his  (or  her)  ear  glued  to 
the  grating.  Perhaps  I  scarcely  knew  how  I  felt 
myself;  for  I  have  more  than  once  acknowledged 
my  inaptitude  for  the  dissections  and  demonstrations 
of  metaphysical  anatomy.  And  perhaps  it  is  hardly 
fair  to  require  a  man  to  conduct  his  own  autopsy. 
But,  whatever  may  have  been  my  own  state  of  mind, 
one  fact,  mortifying  as  it  may  be,  I  must  needs  con 
fess.  It  must  be  admitted  that  the  beautiful  Eleanor 
did  not  fall  in  love  with  me  either  at  first  or  second 
sight.  Perhaps  it  was  no  proof  of  her  taste  or  dis 
cernment  ;  but  the  fact  cannot  be  denied.  Her 
deportment  towards  me  was  perfectly  kind  and  well- 
bred  ;  but  I  could  not  help  feeling  that  my  image 
might  never  again  occur  to  her,  if  not  recalled  by  my 
bodily  presence.  Of  course,  such  a  conviction  was 
not  flattering  to  my  vanity  (if,  indeed,  I  or  any  man 
was  ever  subject  to  such  a  weakness) ;  but  did  it  go 
near  breaking  my  heart  ?  It  is  altogether  too  near 
the  end  of  a  chapter  to  enter  into  an  inquiry  of  this 
intricacy,  and.  so  it  must  be  adjourned  to  a  day 
future.  I  am  none  of  your  epic  writers,  who  dive 
at  once  into  the  middle  of  things,  and  then  plunge 
and  splash  about  until  they  have  somehow  or 
another  brought  the  beginning  and  end  together.  I 
am  a  plain  narrator  of  a  simple  passage  of  biography, 


74  WENSLEY. 

and  tell  things  just  as  they  happened,  and  must  be 
allowed  to  take  my  own  way,  or  I  shall  be  sure  to 
make  a  botch  of  the  whole  thing. 

When  they  were  gone,  Mr.  Bulkley  put  his  arm 
in  mine,  and  we  walked  off  towards  the  parsonage 
together.  He  told  me,  what  I  had  surmised  before, 
that  I  was  what  they  were  talking  about,  he  having 
asked  Colonel  Allerton  if  he  had  not  known  my 
father  during  his  public  life  in  Europe.  He  had 
then  told  the  Colonel  who  I  was,  and,  as  I  surmised, 
the  occasion  of  my  residence  in  Wensley  ;  but  he  did 
not  say  so,  nor  did  I  ask,  as  the  day,  if  not  the  sub 
ject,  was  too  serious  for  a  joke,  and  it  would  have 
been  too  much  for  his  human  nature  or  mine  to  have 
suppressed  one  under  such  favorable  circumstances. 
The  order  of  our  return  home  was  the  reverse  of  that 
which  had  distinguished  our  march  to  the  meeting 
house  ;  for  Jasper,  instead  of  bringing  up  our  rear, 
was  discerned  far  in  our  van,  and,  in  fact,  just  enter 
ing  the  parsonage.  This  apparent  breach  of  subordi 
nation,  however,  would  have  been  pardoned  by  a 
stricter  martinet  than  I,  on  beholding  the  excellent 
cold  dinner  which  he  had  set  out  in  the  study,  ready 
for  us  on  our  arrival :  at  least  it  would  have  been,  if 
the  martinet  in  supposition  had  been  as  hungry  as 
the  worthy  parson's  diatribe  against  bishops  had 
made  me. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AN  INVITATION  AND   A  DINNER  AT  WENSLEY. 

THE  Allerton  pew  was  empty  in  the  afternoon. 
I  was  not  sure  that  it  was  not  the  morning's 
onslaught  upon  the  Anglican  Church  that  had  driven 
away  its  inhabitants,  until  Jasper  assured  me  that 
they  never  went  to  meeting  in  the  afternoon.  This 
he  resented  as  a  slight  to  his  master,  and  as  one  of 
the  many  mischiefs  of  the  Church  of  England,  for 
which  the  worthy  Afrite  had  much  the  same  myste 
rious  horror  that  many  excellent  people  feel  for  the 
Church  of  Rome,  and  probably  with  about  the  same 
degree  of  knowledge.  I  discovered  afterwards,  that 
it  was  the  belief  of  Wensley  that  there  was  a  chapel 
fitted  up  at  Woodside,  where  the  Colonel  read  the  ser 
vice  of  the  church  to  his  daughter  and  her  maid,  Ann 
Petchell,  the  only  other  member  of  that  communion 
in  Wensley.  This  was  some  explanation  of  the  phe 
nomenon  to  its  curious  inhabitants,  and  perhaps  made 
them  easier  under  it,  on  Priest  Bulkley's  account,  of 
whose  honor  they  were  as  jealous  as  Jasper  himself. 
I  am  bound  to  say,  however,  that  a  tolerably  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  house  in  after- times  never  re 
vealed  to  me  any  such  secret  place  of  worship ;  and 


76  WENSLEY. 

Colonel  Allerton,  with  all  his  various  excellences, 
seemed  to  me  as  little  likely  to  become  an  amateur 
chaplain  as  any  possible  man,  when  I  came  to  know 
him  better. 

These  facts,  or  myths,  I  learned  that  evening  from 
the  conversation  of  Deacon  Williams  and  Major 
Grimes,  and  one  or  two  of  the  parish  besides,  who 
called  in  to  see  the  parson,  and  possibly  to  take  a  look 
at  me  also.  When  the  sun  went  down  on  the  day 
which  bears  his  name,  all  the  sabbatical  shade  of  se 
riousness  which  rested  upon  it  passed  away  with  him. 
By  this  time,  Mr.  Bulkley's  spirits  seemed  to  rebound 
from  the  pressure  of  unwonted  solemnity,  and  to  be 
elastic  and  joyous  as  usual.  His  stories  were  more 
and  better ,  he  fought  his  old  battles  over  again  with 
new  vigor;  and  his  jest  was  more  frequent,  and  his 
laugh  more  resonant,  than  ever.  Sunday  evening 
was  the  time  when  his  parishioners  usually  came  to 
call  on  him.  Then  they  were  mutually  at  each 
other's  service.  They  had  nothing  to  do ;  and  he 
was  well  content  to  do  nothing  in  their  company 
after  the  labors  of  the  day. 

He  was  a  student  of  men  as  well  as  of  books  ;  and 
I  have  never  known  any  one  better  versed  in  the 
niceties  of  Yankee  character  and  dialect  than  he. 
He  could  draw  them  out  with  marvellous  skill,  of 
which  the  subjects  were  perfectly  unsuspicious,  and 
all  with  no  shadow  of  ill-nature,  or  purpose  of  satire. 
It  was  simply  the  study  of  man,  in  which  he  de 
lighted,  and  for  which  he  must  use  such  materials  as 


AN  INVITATION   AND   A  DINNER  AT  WENSLEY.      77 

came  in  his  way.  As  we  sat  round  the  wall  in  sum 
mer,  waging  internecine  war  with  the  mosquitoes  or 
round  the  fire  in  cold  weather,  discussing  all  manner 
of  public  and  parish  politics,  with  the  apples  and  cider, 
which  formed  the  staple  entertainment,  there  were 
odd  traits  of  character,  and  curiosities  of  expression, 
enough  to  have  made  the  fortunes  of  a  score  of 
Yankee  Hills  or  Hali burtons.  I  wonder  whether 
there  are  any  such  people  left  anywhere  in  New 
England  now.  I  am  afraid  that  they  have  had  all 
their  sharpnesses  ground  down  by  the  mill-wheels, 
and  that  they  are  all  reduced  to  undistinguishable 
particles  ;  or  that  their  originality  has  been  all  crushed 
out  of  them  by  the  locomotives  that  fly,  screaming 
like  so  many  devils,  all  over  the  country. 

Major  Grimes,  I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say, 
had  changed  his  mode. of  address  towards  me  since 
he  had  put  me  in  the  right  way  two  days  before.  He 
was  perfectly  respectful  and  deferential,  now  that  he 
found  that  the  old  priest  had  actually  received  me 
under  his  roof,  and  had  discovered,  furthermore,  who 
I  was. 

"  You  find  Priest  Bulkley  a  fine  man,  sir,"  said  he, 
when  he  had  an  opportunity  for  an  aside,  "  don't  you  ? " 
using  the  epithet  "  fine,"  as  almost  all  Americans  do, 
to  denote  mental  and  moral  qualities,  and  not,  as  an 
Englishman  uniformly  does,  to  express  fine  presence 
and  personal  beauty.  You  may  hear  an  Englishman 
say,  "  He  is  a  very  fine  man :  what  a  pity  that  he  is 
such  a  fool ! "  and  an  American,  "  She  is  a  very  fine 


78  WENSLEY. 

woman  :  what  a  pity  she  should  be  so  homely !  "  But 
this  is  parenthetical. 

"  From  what  little  I  have  seen  of  him,  I  judge  him 
to  be  a  very  fine  man,"  I  answered  coolly. 

"You  will  think  more  and  more  of  him,  sir,  the 
more  you  see  of  him,"  replied  the  Major.  "  I  did  n't 
tli ink  he  meant  to  take  in  any  more  young  college 
gentlemen ;  but  when  I  heard  who  you  were,  from 
Jasper,  when  he  came  after  your  things,  I  knew  he 
would." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  I.  "  You  knew  more  of  my  influ 
ence  over  him  than  I  did,  then." 

"  Oh,  but  your  father  and  he  used  to  be  so  thick 
together ! "  rejoined  the  martial  dispenser  of  toddy. 
"  They  were  the  greatest  cronies  you  ever  saw.  And 
the  old  priest  is  n't  a  man  to  forget  his  friends,  alive 
or  dead,  I  can  tell  you.  That 's  why  he  took  you,  sir." 

"  I  'm  very  glad  of  it,  whatever  brought  it  about," 
said  I. 

"  Your  father  used  always  to  put  up  his  horses  at 
my  place  when  he  came  to  Wensley.  He  used  to 
drive  a  phaeton  and  pair ;  and  good  horses  they  were, 
I  can  tell  you,  sir.  Are  you  fond  of  horses,  sir  ? " 
he  went  on. 

"I  like  them  well  enough  when  I  have  occasion 
for  them.  I  am  no  judge  of  them,  and  have  nothing 
of  the  fancy  for  them  that  some  men  have." 

"  Because,  if  you  ever  want  a  saddle-horse,  I  don't 
believe  you  can  fiod  a  better  in  Boston  than  my 
Turk;  and,  for  a  chaise  (videlicet,  gig),  you  won't 


AN   INVITATION   AND   A   DINNER   AT   WENSLEY.      79 

often  sit  behind  a  better  beast  than  my  mare  Black 
Sally.  Colonel  Allerton  wanted  to  buy  her ;  but  it 
was  of  no  use.  I  would  n't  part  with  her." 

"  The  Colonel  is  a  judge  of  horses,  then,  I  suppose," 
said  I. 

"  A  judge  !  I  believe  you  !  "  he  replied  briskly. 
"  There  is  n't  a  man  in  New  England  that  knows 
horse-flesh  better.  Why,  he  keeps  five  himself  here ; 
and  I  have  heard  say  that  he  had  near  twenty  in 
England." 

"  It 's  no  wonder,  then,"  I  said,  "  that  he  fell  in 
love  with  Black  Sally.  I  should  have  thought  he 
would  have  had  her  at  any  rate." 

"Well,"  returned  her  fortunate  possessor,  rather 
drawlingly,  "  you  see  he  was  n't  willing  to  give  me 
quite  as  much  as  I  thought  he  ought  to  for  her.  At 
the  same  time  that  I  offered  her  (reasonable,  too)  to 
the  Colonel,  I  told  him  he  might  have  Turk  for  three 
hundred.  But  he  didn't  want  a  saddle-horse  just 
then,  he  said.  And  I  'm  glad  of  it,  for  I  should  have 
missed  him  training-days.  He  '11  stand  cannon,  mus 
ketry,  music,  anything.  General  Srnithett  would  give 
me  five  dollars  a  day  for  him  any  muster,  if  I  did  n't 
want  him  myself." 

I  was  just  telling  my  military  friend  that  I  would 
certainly  try  the  quality  of  his  stud  on  my  first  oc 
casion,  when  a  quick  double  knock  was  heard  at  the 
door,  and  in  another  moment  the  personage  whose 
name  was  the  last  word  in  our  mouths  was  ushered 
into  the  presence  by  Jasper.  Colonel  Allerton  en- 


80  WENSLEY. 

tered  nimbly,  and  shook  hands  cordially  with  the 
minister,  and  afterwards  with  me ;  and  then,  bowing 
kindly  to  the  other  guests,  all  of  whom  rose  on  his 
entrance,  he  sat  down  by  me. 

"  The  Parson  gave  us  a  capital  sermon  this  morn 
ing,  Deacon,"  said  he,  addressing  that  functionary, 
whose  eyes  seemed  to  be  more  than  ever  in  all  places 
at  the  same  time.  "  Eather  hard  upon  me  and  my 
daughter,  perhaps.  But  it  is  a  positive  pleasure  to 
be  flogged  by  some  people,  it  is  so  cleverly  done." 

I  thought  the  Deacon  might  have  said  that  it  was 
well  for  some  other  people,  that,  like  tops,  the  more 
they  were  whipped,  the  better  they  slept.  But  he 
did  not.  Perhaps  the  dispersion  of  his  vision  over  the 
remoter  regions  of  the  meeting-house  prevented  his 
seeing  what  was  so  directly  under  his  nose.  What 
he  said  was, — 

"  I  'm  glad  you  liked  it,  sir." 

"  Liked  it !  To  be  sure  I  did,"  rejoined  the  Colo 
nel.  "  And,  egad,  Parson !  I  should  be  sorry  to  be 
required  to  answer  you.  But  I'm  not  converted,  for 
all  that,  you  know.  You  can't  suppose  me  such  a 
pitiful  fellow  as  to  be  driven  from  my  religion  merely 
because  I  can't  defend  it  against  a  militant  minister, 
armed  to  the  teeth,  like  you.  No,  no !  You  must 
make  another  breach  before  you  '11  carry  me  by  storm, 
much  less  Eleanor." 

"I  shall  try  for  it,  you  may  be  sure,"  said  Mr. 
Bulkley,  smiling ;  "  for  I  am  sure,  that,  if  you  are 
hard  to  carry,  you  will  be  easy  to  hold.  There  '11 


AN  INVITATION    AND   A  DINNER  AT   WENSLEY.      81 

be  no  backsliding  in  your  case,  or  Miss  Eleanor's, 
either." 

"  I  think  you  're  right,  by  Jove ! "  returned  the  Colo 
nel,  "  and,  that  we  may  keep  your  good  opinion  the 
better,  I  think  we  '11  not  backslide  from  where  we 
stand  now.  But  do  all  you  can  to  unsettle  us,  pray. 
You  are  perfectly  welcome  to  do  so,  if  you  can,  I  do 
assure  you." 

I  felt  that  if  he  always  had  the  invention  blessed 
by  Sancho  about  him,  to  wrap  himself  in,  and  to 
serve  as 

"  Feather-bed  'twixt  castle- wall 
And  heavy  brunt  of  cannon-ball," 

he  was  really  in  no  great  danger  from  the  good  par 
son's  theological  gunnery. 

After  a  little  more  talk  between  them,  in  which  no 
one  else  joined,  unless  appealed  to,  the  Deacon  and 
the  Major,  followed  by  the  other  village  visitors,  rose, 
and  took  their  leave.  As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  the 
Colonel  said  to  the  minister,  — 

"  Well,  Parson,  to  show  that  I  bear  no  malice,  I 
have  walked  down  this  fine  night  to  ask  you  and  Mr. 
Osborne  to  come  and  dine  with  me  as  soon  as  you  can. 
When  shall  it  be  ?  To-morrow  ? " 

"  To-morrow  is  rather  soon,"  Mr.  Bulkley  replied, 
"as  Mr.  Osborne  and  I  have  not  yet  reduced  our 
selves  into  our  order  of  studies.  We  had  fixed  upon 
to-morrow  to  begin." 

"  Very  well.  If  not  to-morrow,  fix  a  day  for  your 
self.  Only  let  it  be  some  day  this  week." 

6 


82  WENSLEY. 

"  Shall  it  be  Thursday  ? "  inquired  Mr.  Bulkley, 
looking  over  to  me. 

I  intimated  that  all  days  were  alike  to  me,  and 
that  Thursday  suited  me  perfectly  well.  So  the  din 
ner  was  fixed  for  Thursday. 

"I  wish  to  have  you  come  this  week,"  said  the 
Colonel,  rising  to  depart,  "  because  I  shall  have  to 
go  to  Boston  next  week,  and  may  not  be  able  to 
return  until  the  very  end  of  it,  or  the  beginning  of 
the  week  after.  On  Thursday,  then,  I  shall  expect 
you." 

And  he  was  taking  his  leave,  when  the  Parson  and 
I  thought  that  we  would  walk  with  him,  the  night 
being  extremely  fine,  as  far  as  the  bridge.  Our  so 
ciety  was  gladly  accepted,  and  we  walked  merrily 
along  the  road,  accompanied  by  many  a  story  and 
jest,  and  followed  by  many  a  laugh.  No  doubt,  as 
we  passed  by  the  scattered  houses  of  the  village,  peo 
ple  said,  "  That 's  Priest  Bulkley's  voice  !  I  should 
know  it  among  a  thousand.  I  wonder  if  anybody 's 
been  took  sick.  It  can't  be,  though,  or  he  would  n't 
laugh  so." 

At  the  bridge  we  parted ;  the  Colonel  pursuing  his 
way  by  the  river  road,  and  the  Parson  and  I  going 
back  over  our  steps. 

"  It  was  so  like  him ! "  said  Mr.  Bulkley,  as  soon 
as  we  were  fairly  out  of  hearing. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ? "  I  asked.  "  What  was 
so  like  him  ? " 

"  His  coming  so  instantly  to  invite  you,"  said  he. 


AN   INVITATION   AND   A   DINNER   AT   WENSLEY.      83 

"  He  never  hangs  fire  —  the  Colonel.  He  always  goes 
off  at  half-cock." 

"  Well,  sir,"  I  replied,  "  provided  he  hits  as  well  as 
he  has  to-night,  it 's  not  a  bad  way  of  going  off." 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  he  returned :  "  a  short  aim 
is  generally  the  best.  But  he 's  a  queer  man,  sir,  as 
Jasper  told  you  —  an  odd  compound  of  openness  and 
reserve.  He  seems  so  transparent,  that  you  would 
think  you  could  see  straight  through  him  at  a  glance. 
But  you  will  find  yourself  mistaken.  You  may  look 
your  eyes  blind,  without  really  making  him  out." 

"  Do  you  suppose,  sir,"  I  asked,  "  that  he  has  any 
thing  really  to  conceal,  or  that  he  does  not  choose  to 
make  talk  of  his  private  affairs,  merely  because  they 
are  private  ? " 

"  I  can't  tell,"  he  replied.  "  I  can  only  say,  that 
intimate  as  I  have  been  with  him,  and  the  only 
person  he  really  associates  with  for  the  greatest  part 
of  his  time,  he  has  never  let  a  word  drop  as  to  any  of 
them ;  not  even  as  to  his  motive  for  coming  to  this 
country,  or  the  probable  length  of  his  stay.  It  must 
be  systematic  to  be  so  uniform." 

"  Is  he  as  close  as  to  his  life  in  Europe  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Very  nearly,"  he  replied ;  "  that  is,  as  to  the 
more  recent  part  of  it.  He  talks  fast  enough  about 
old  times,  and  very  well  too.  However,  it's  none  of 
my  business ;  and  I  suppose  he  is  of  the  same  opin 
ion.  But  you  will  find  him  a  charming  companion, 
as  well  as  Miss  Eleanor ;.  and  I  am  glad  you  have  got 
admission  to  the  house." 


84  WENSLEY. 

"  Is  she  as  sly  as  her  father  ? "  I  inquired.  "  She 
does  not  seem  to  have  as  much  to  say,  at  any  rate, 
judging  by  the  little  I  saw  of  her." 

"  I  hardly  see  enough  of  her  by  herself  to  judge," 
he  answered.  "  And,  besides,  I  am  afraid  I  am 
hardly  the  confidant  she  would  be  likely  to  choose 
if  she  had  anything  to  tell.  But  it  would  not 
have  been  strange  if  her  father  had  sometimes,  by 
chance,  let  fall  to  me  something  of  his  history  or 
plans  that  might  not  be  proclaimed  in  Grimes's  bar 
room.  But  no  such  chance  has  ever  happened. 
You  know  as  much  of  them  as  I  do;  and  what  I 
have  told  you  I  obtained  from  other  sources  than 
themselves." 

We  were  now  at  home,  and  I  bade  him  good-night, 
smiling  a  little,  privily,  at  the  good  man's  curiosity 
(of  which  he  did  not  seem  at  all  suspicious)  to  know 
of  his  neighbor's  affairs;  which,  however,  I  am  given 
to  understand,  was  no  idiosyncrasy  of  his  particular 
constitution,  nor  even  one  confined  to  small  rural 
parishes  like  Wensley.  There  was  a  shade,  how 
ever,  of  wounded  feeling  in  his  expression,  as  if  he 
had  not  received  quite  a  just  return  for  the  fulness 
of  confidence  he  was  ready  to  pour  into  the  bosom 
of  his  friend,  at  which  I  had  no  disposition  to  smile. 
But  is  there  any  of  us  that  has  not  some  Bluebeard's 
chamber  in  his  heart,  which  he  keeps  close  shut,  even 
to  his  nearest  and  dearest  ?  I  do  not  pretend  to  know 
more  than  my  neighbors ;  but,  from  what  I  have  seen 
and  heard,  I  surmise  that  there  are  married  men  even, 


AN  INVITATION  AND  A  DINNER  AT  WENSLEY.      85 

'who  would  be  ready  to  play  Bluebeard  in  good  ear 
nest,  if  they  should  find  that  the  very  wives  of  their 
bosoms  had  found  a  cranny  through  which  to  peer 
into  those  prohibited  recesses.  I  wonder  what  they 
would  see  there.  And  Mr.  Bulkley  himself — would 
he  have  exposed  to  the  eye  of  his  dearest  friend 
the  sacred  though  dishonored  image  of  his  fatal 
Julia,  and  the  troop  of  recollections,  emotions,  and 
agonies,  that  waited  upon  it  ?  I  think  not,  even  to 
have  the  veil  lifted  from  the  most  secret  places  of 
any  other  life. 

Thursday  arrived,  as  it  usually  does,  as  nearly  in 
the  middle  of  the  week  as  possible.  And,  moreover, 
it  was  a  very  fine  day ;  so  that  Mr.  Bulkley  and  I 
chose  to  go  to  Woodside  on  foot,  rather  than  disturb 
the  bones  of  Smiler,  the  minister's  cross  old  horse, 
from  their  repose  in  the  stable.  Jasper  had  brushed 
up  his  master's  buckles,  and  made  him  as  smart  as 
his  best  coat  and  breeches  (it  would  hardly  be  his 
torically  correct  to  call  them  his  new  ones)  could  make 
him ;  and,  as  he  was  a  vigorous  walker,  we  were  soon 
at  the  hospitable  door,  which  stood  open  to  welcome 
us.  On  the  threshold  stood  the  master  of  the  house, 
ready  to  give  us  a  most  cordial  reception,  and  to  usher 
us  into  the  presence  of  his  daughter.  She  looked 
handsomer  than  ever ;  and  as  she  sat  in  the  window 
(which  she  had  had  cut  down  to  the  ground,  an  as 
tonishment  to  all  Wensley)  opening  into  her  flower- 
garden,  in  the  light  of  that  lovely  day,  she  did  look 
as  lovely  as  the  day  itself. 


86  WENSLEY. 

The  dinner  was  excellent,  such  as  wealthy  gentle 
men  of  that  day  used  to  set  before  their  guests.  The 
table  furniture  was  handsome  but  plain,  and  all  dis 
play  of  wealth  was  evidently  repressed.  The  table 
linen  was  of  the  finest  of  damask,  and  the  service  of 
Nankin  china.  The  silver  forks  were  the  first  that 
had  penetrated  to  Wensley,  and  were  a  marvel,  and  a 
mystery  to  its  oldest  inhabitants,  who  had  never  heard 
of  the  like.  At  that  time  this  luxury,  which  has  now 
become  almost  a  necessity,  was  confined,  even  in  the 
cities,  to  the  very  rich,  and,  indeed,  not  always  in 
daily  use  with  them.  So  that  it  is  no  wonder  that 
their  advent  caused  a  sensation  in  Wensley,  nor  that 
Jonathan  Snell,  the  Colonel's  coachman,  should  have 
condescended  one  day  to  take  a  specimen  in  his 
pocket  to  show  to  the  astonished  inhabitants,  at  their 
special  instance,  after  custom  had  bred  familiarity 
with  that  great  man.  Mr.  Bulkley  would  never  give 
in  to  this  new  fanglement,  as  he  called  it.  So  he  was 
always  supplied  with  a  good  old-fashioned  three- 
pronged  steel  fork,  with  which  —  "  scevitque  tridenti  " 
—  he  did  manful  execution. 

Mr.  Bulkley,  of  course,  took  Miss  Allerton  in  to 
dinner,  which  ceremony  he  performed  by  bearing 
her  hand  aloft,  with  an  Old- World  grace,  like  a  sep 
tuagenarian  Sir  Charles  Grandison.  He  would  have 
scorned  the  custom,  had  he  been  cognizant  of  it,  of 
clapping  a  lady's  hand  under  his  arm  like  a  brown 
paper  parcel  from  the  grocer's.  The  Colonel  and  I 
followed  after  them  ;  and  though  he  made  no  sign  of 


AN  INVITATION   AND   A  DINNER   AT   WENSLEY.      87 

remarking  the  good  man's  gallantry,  lie  could  not 
control  a  little  twitching  of  the  muscles  about  the 
corners  of  the  mouth.  During  dinner  I  had  but 
little  to  say  to  Miss  Allerton  beyond  taking  wine 
with  her,  and  assisting  her  in  the  dispensation  of  the 
dishes  at  her  end  of  the  table.  With  two  elders  at 
table  who  talked  so  much  and  so  well  as  her  father 
and  Mr.  Bulkley,  there  was  little  occasion  or  oppor 
tunity  for  us  to  display  any  conversational  gifts  we 
might  possess,  except  that  greatest  one  of  listening 
•well,  —  that  "  grand  talent  pour  le  silence  "  which 
Talleyrand  (or  whoever  it  was)  showed  more  wit 
than  sense  in  laughing  at.  What  would  he  have 
done,  I  should  like  to  know,  if  there  were  not  some 
people  willing  to  hold  their  tongues  ? 

It  was  entertainment  enough  to  sit  and  hear  the 
two  men  talk,  and  to  look  at  the  lovely  mistress  of 
the  house.  Colonel  Allerton  had  seen  all  the  public 
and  literary  men  of  the  end  of  the  last  century  and 
the  beginning  of  this,  and  had  known  many  of  them 
personally.  It  was  something  to  hear  a  man  talk 
who  had  seen  Garrick  during  his  last  season,  and  had 
had  the  vision  of  Dr.  Johnson  rolling  along  Fleet 
Street,  though  he  had  never  met  him  face  to  face  as 
an  acquaintance.  He  had  breakfasted  in  company 
with  Gibbon,  and  had  dined  at  the  same  table  with 
Sheridan ;  and,  of  all  the  orators  and  authors  and 
beauties  of  that  period,  he  had  had  opportunities  of 
personal  observation,  and  could  make  report  of  them 
from  what  his  own  eyes  had  seen.  Whatever  secret 


88  WENSLEY. 

reserve  he  might  have  to  his  best  friends,  of  which 
Mr.  Bulkley  had  complained,  there  was  no  sign  of  it 
in  his  conversation.  Nothing  could  be  more  free  and 
flowing  than  his  stream  of  talk.  It  seemed  as  if  you 
had  only  to  give  it  a  direction,  and  it  would  waft 
directly  to  your  feet  all  the  facts  of  his  experience. 
But  he  was  not  in  the  least  an  overpowering  talker. 
He  did  not  compel  you,  as  Carlyle  says  Coleridge  did, 
"  to  sit  as  a  passive  bucket,  and  be  pumped  into, 
whether  you  consent  or  not ; "  which,  he  goes  on 
to  say  justly,  "  can,  in  the  long-run,  be  exhilarating  to 
no  creature."  On  the  contrary,  he  carefully  drew 
out  Mr.  Bulkley,  and  made  him  appear  to  his  best 
advantage,  and  was  very  far  from  neglecting  me. 

Mr.  Bulkley,  indeed,  was  not  a  man  to  be  easily 
put  down.  Just  to  others,  he  was  just  also  to  him 
self,  and  it  would  have  been  a  clever  man  that 
could  rob  him  of  his  fair  share  of  what  talk  was 
going  on.  But  nobody  who  had  ever  heard  him 
talk  (your  oppressive  talkers  never  hear  anybody 
but  themselves)  would  ever  wish  that  he  should  talk 
any  less.  Though  he  had  lived  in  retirement  so  long, 
still  his  seven-years'  apprenticeship  to  the  world, 
during  the  war,  had  made  him  a  master  of  that  craft, 
and  had  furnished  him  with  inexhaustible  stores  of 
personal  recollections,  all  connected  with  the  most 
interesting  times  and  people.  Then  the  very  quaint- 
ness  of  manner  and  speech  which  his  solitary  life 
had  bred,  set  off  by  his  extensive  though  odd  reading, 
gave  a  rare  raciness  to  his  talk.  His  intimate  ac- 


AN  INVITATION   AND   A   DINNER   AT   WENSLEY.      89 

quaintance,  too,  with  the  peculiarities  of  character 
and  dialect  of  the  country-people  whom  he  had  made 
his  study  for  so  long,  and  his  uncommon  powers  of 
mimicry,  which  he  would  exert  in  safe  societies, 
made  him,  I  think,  the  most  entertaining  companion 
I  ever  met  in  the  course  of  a  pretty  long  acquaint 
ance  with  the  world. 

"  The  choir  sung  very  well  last  Sunday,  Parson," 
said  Colonel  Allerton,  with  the  slightest  possible 
glance  at  his  daughter  and  me.  But,  if  there  were 
any  irony  in  the  tone,  the  Parson  did  not  notice  it. 

"  Yes,  I  think  they  improve,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  sure 
I  take  pains  enough  with  them." 

"  Do  you  know,"  returned  the  Colonel,  "  that  I  was 
rather  disappointed,  on  coming  here,  at  finding  the 
noses  of  good  old  Sternhold  and  Hopkins  put  out  of 
joint  by  Dr.  Watts  ?  I  was  in  hopes  of  hearing  once 
more  sung,  line  by  line,  by  the  whole  congregation, 
as  of  old,  '  The  Lord  will  come,  and  he  will  not ; '  and 
then,  as  a  distinct  proposition,  puzzling  to  my  infancy, 
'  Keep  silence,  but  speak  out ! ' " 

"  If  you  had  come  only  five  years  sooner,  you  would 
have  had  your  wish,"  replied  Mr.  Bulkley.  "  I  be 
lieve  Wensley  was  the  last  town  that  yielded  to  the 
innovation.  I  withstood  it  as  long  as  I  could ;  but 
the  Association l  would  give  me  no  rest  till  I  fell  in 
with  it.  But  I  found  it  hard  work,  I  assure  you." 

1  In  New  England,  from  the  earliest  times,  the  Congregational 
ministers  within  a  convenient  distance  of  each  other  form  associa 
tions,  which  meet  at  regular  intervals. 


90  WENSLEY. 

"What!  were  the  people  unwilling  to  make  the 
change  ? "  exclaimed  the  Colonel  "  I  respect  them 
for  it." 

"Loath  enough  at  first,"  responded  the  Parson. 
"  Most  of  the  old  women  actually  believed  that  those 
were  the  very  strains  which  King  David  sang  to  his 
harp,  and  looked  on  the  change  proposed  as  little 
short  of  blasphemy." 

"And  how  did  you  manage  it?"  asked  Miss 
Allerton. 

"Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  my  dear  young 
lady,"  returned  the  minister,  "  I  found  the  young 
people  my  best  allies.  The  allurement  of  a  singing- 
school  for  the  winter  nights,  and  the  glories  of  the 
singing  gallery  on  the  sabbath,  were  more  than  they 
could  resist :  so,  by  playing  off  the  vanities  of  the 
young  against  the  prejudices  of  the  old,  I  gradually 
brought  all  round,  except  Deacon  Holt.  The  Deacon 
maintained  the  faith  long  after  all  the  rest  had 
given  in." 

"  And  how  did  you  overcome  him  ? "  inquired  the 
Colonel. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  pursued  the  Parson.  "  I  knew 
that  he  was  as  self-willed  as  one  of  his  own  bullocks ; 
and  so  I  left  him  until  the  very  last  of  the  opponents 
had  submitted.  Then,  supposing  he  must  have 
been  somewhat  mollified  by  the  change  of  opinion 
in  the  parish,  I  moved  up  to  the  attack  myself.  I 
found  the  Deacon  sitting  at  his  front-door  one  fine 
sabbath  evening  about  sundown.  The  delicious 


AN  INVITATION   AND   A   DINNER   AT   WENSLEY.      91 

west  wind  did,  to  be  sure,  bring  with  it  an  occa 
sional  whiff  from  his  slaughter-house  hard  by ;  but 
the  Deacon  liked  it  none  the  worse  for  that.  So,  by 
way  of  making  my  approaches  regularly,  I  said, 
'  An  uncommonly  fine  evening,  Deacon.'  — '  Ya-as, 
Parson,'  he  replied  :  '  the  weather  is  dreadful  fine,  as 
you  say.  It  somehow  makes  a  fellow  feel  kind  o' 
nohow.  I  was  just  a-saying  to  Miss  (Nov-Anglice  for 
Mrs.)  Holt,  it  was  such-a-most-a-beautiful  arternoon, 
if  it  was  n't  that  it 's  Sa-a-ba-a-day,  I  feel  just  as  if 
I  should  like  to  sla-a-ter  sutlvin*  (slaughter  some 
thing)." 

The  Colonel  and  I  roared  at  this,  of  which  no  print 
can  give  any  idea  of  the  perfection  of  the  Parson's 
twang.  Miss  Allerton  laughed  too,  but  with  some 
exclamation  of  horror  at  the  Deacon's  association  of 
ideas. 

"  But,  my  dear  Miss  Eleanor,"  expostulated  Mr. 
Bulkley,  "  you  should  allow  for  an  artist's  enthu 
siasm.  /  did,  and,  waiting  sympathizingly  until  it 
had  exhaled,  I  thought  that  now  was  my  time ;  and 
so  I  broached  the  subject  at  once.  '  Deacon,'  said  I, 
'  I  am  surprised  to  find  that  a  man  of  your  piety  and 
discretion  should  oppose  the  substitution  of  Watts's 
for  the  old  version,'  and  then  proceeded  to  give  the 
reasons  in  favor  of  the  one  over  the  other.  He 
shook  his  head.  '  Parson  Bulkley,'  said  he,  '  1 11 
tell  you  what :  I  've  two  good  reasons  why  I  won't 
never  agree  to  it.'  — '  May  I  ask,'  said  I,  '  what  they 
are  ? '  — '  My  first  objection  is/  said  he,  '  that  Watts 


92  WENSLEY. 

isn't  an  expired  man/  — '  "Watts  not  an  expired 
man  ! '  I  exclaimed.  '  My  dear  sir,  I  am  astonished 
to  hear  a  man  of  your  intelligence  say  such  a 
thing.  I  do  assure  you  that  there  is  nothing  more 
certain  than  that  he  is  an  expired  man.' — 'Be  you 
sartain?'  the  astonished  Deacon  asked,  somewhat 
shaken  by  my  confidence.  '  I  am  not  more  certain 
of  my  own  existence/  1  replied.  '  It  is  a  perfectly 
well-established  fact.'  —  '  Well/  said  he  slowly,  'if  you 
be  sartain  sure,  I  s'pose  I  must  give  up  that  pint' " 

We  all  laughed  merrily  at  this  ;  and  the  Colonel 
said,  "  And  what  was  the  other  point,  Parson  ? " 

"That's  just  what  I  asked  the  Deacon,"  he  re 
plied  ;  "  and  the  Deacon  said,  *  My  second  pint  is, 
that  there's  a  word  in  it  that  is  n't  in  Scriptur' — '  In 
deed  ! '  said  I :  'that  is  vital.  Pray,  what  is  the  word  V 
— *  PAUSE  !'  said  the  Deacon.  *  There 's  the  word  pause, 
in  it ;  and  it  ain't  nowhere  in  the  Bible ! '  and  he 
looked  triumphantly  at  me,  as  if  he  had  cornered  me 
now.1  '  My  good  friend/  I  replied,  '  I  am  more 
astonished  at  this  objection  than  at  the  other.  Pause 
not  in  the  Bible  !  Please  just  reach  it  to  me.  Look 
here,  now  (1  Sam.  xvii.  37),  "  The  Lord  hath  de 
livered  me  out  of  the  paw  of  the  lion,  and  out  of  the 
paw  of  the  bear."  The  paw  of  the  lion  and  the 
paw  of  the  bear,  taken  together,  make  "paws"  don't 

1  The  non-evangelical  reader,  if,  unfortunately,  there  are  any  such, 
may  need  to  be  informed  that  Dr.  Watts  hath  divided  his  longer 
psalms  and  hymns  into  two  or  more  portions  by  the  interposition  of 
the  word  "PAUSE." 


AN  INVITATION  AND  A  DINNER   AT  WENSLEY.      93 

they  ?  How  can  you  say,  then,  and  you  so  well  read 
in  the  Bible,  that  the  word  paws  is  n't  in  it  ? ' ' 

We  all  shouted  with  laughter  at  this  new  exegesis ; 
and  Miss  Eleanor  fairly  clapped  her  hands,  saying, 
"  And  was  the  Deacon  silenced  ?  " 

"  Completely,"  replied  Mr.  Bulkley.  "  He  has 
never  been  heard  to  say  a  word  against  Dr.  Watts 
or  his  psalms  from  that  day  to  this.  My  victory  was 
complete.  But  this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  told  the 
particulars,  and  you  will  see  that  I  have  put  myself 
in  your  power.  It  is  a  secret  of  the  confessional. 
But  I  am  not  afraid  to  trust  you." 

The  cloth  being  removed,  Colonel  Allerton  said, 
that,  out  of  regard  to  Mr.  Bulkley's  feelings,  he 
would  give  the  President's  health  first ;  but  it  was 
on  condition  that  the  King's  should  be  duly  hon 
ored  afterwards.  As  the  wine  was  excellent,  of 
course  the  minister  made  no  objection  to  this ;  only, 
when  the  toast  was  given,  he  slyly  improved  it,  as  he 
drank  it,  thus :  "  The  King's  health  —  and  amend 
ment  !  "  And  even  these  his  loyal  subjects,  in  view  of 
the  recent  developments  consequent  on  the  Queen's 
trial,  could  hardly  say  that  his  Majesty  was  absolutely 
beyond  the  reach  of  such  an  aspiration. 

Miss  Allerton  soon  withdrew,  and  as  the  two  gen 
tlemen  began  to  talk  politics  earnestly,  about  which  I 
cared  nothing,  I  overcame  the  opposition  of  my  natural 
bashfulness,  and  yielded  to  the  influence  of  the  more 
attractive  rnetal  in  the  drawing-room,  —  or  parlor,  as 
it  was  called  in  those  days,  —  and  soon  joined  her. 


94  WENSLEY. 

She  made  room  for  me  by  her  window,  and,  the  ex 
cellences  and  oddities  of  Mr.  Bulkley  giving  us  a 
beginning,  we  soon  went  off  into  a  brisk  conversation. 
Perhaps  she  found  that  I  was  not  quite  such  a  booby 
boy  as  she  might  have  taken  it  for  granted  I  was.  I 
did  not  waste  much  of  my  time  at  the  university,  to 
be  sure,  upon  the  stupid  routine  laid  down  by  the 
authorities ;  but  then  I  was  extremely  well  read  in 
many  authors  not  contained  in  the  college  course. 
The  respective  merits  of  Lord  Byron  and  Walter 
Scott,  the  mystery  hanging  over  the  Waverley  novels, 
the  relative  rank  to  be  assigned  to  those  delightful 
fictions,  the  comparison  of  our  opinions  as  to  our 
favorite  characters,  gave  us  plenty  to  say. 

We  did  not  always  agree,  by  any  means.  For 
instance,  she  was  a  warm  admirer  of  Wordsworth  ; 
whereas  I  was  entirely  too  bigoted  a  devotee  of  the 
Byrouic  school  to  allow  him  more  than  a  very  small 
modicum  of  merit.  I  remember  that  I  made  her  lift 
up  her  hands  and  eyes  by  denying  that  he  was  the 
founder  of  any  school  at  all,  only  a  duller  sort  of 
Cowper,  with  Cowper's  knack  at  landscape-painting, 
but  without  his  wit.  She  retorted,  however,  by  as 
serting  that  Byron  plagiarized  from  Wordsworth  in 
the  third  canto  of  "  Chilcle  Harold,"  which  I  stoutly 
denied  ;  declaring,  however,  that,  if  he  had,  Words 
worth  should  be  forever  obliged  to  him  for  the  honor 
done  him.  This  was  all  said  playfully  and  banteriugly 
on  both  sides  ;  and,  when  the  two  gentlemen  came  in 
to  coffee,  we  were  on  the  easiest  terms  imaginable. 


AN   INVITATION  AND   A  DINNER   AT   WENSLEY.      95 

After  coffee,  Miss  Allerton  gave  us  some  music. 
In  those  days,  people  had  not  grown  too  fine  to  like 
Tom  Moore  ;  and  she  sung  "  Oft  in  the  Stilly  Night " 
and  the  "  Last  Eose  "  with  a  roundness  of  voice,  and 
pathos  of  tone,  which  made  the  tears  roll  down  Par 
son  Bulkley's  withered  cheeks.  Moore  was  as  fresh 
to  him  as  Byron,  and  he  could  not  deny  his  lyric 
power.  He  was  never  tired  of  hearing  his  Melodies 
sung  even  by  me,  much  less  by  the  fair  Eleanor. 
But  as  there  must  be  an  end  of  all  things,  however 
pleasant,  so  the  time  came  in  due  course  when  we 
had  to  take  our  leave.  Mr.  Bulkley  made  the  move 
about  eight  o'clock.  Miss  Allerton  cordially  offered 
me  her  hand  at  parting,  and  joined  in  her  father's 
hearty  and  repeated  invitation  to  visit  Woodside  as 
often  as  I  could. 

Mr.  Bulkley  said,  as  we  went  along,  that  I  was  a 
lucky  dog  to  find  such  a  solace  to  my  exile  in  that 
out-of-the-way  place,  and,  indeed,  I  was  very  much 
inclined  to  think  that  my  reverend  friend  was  not 
far  wrong  in  his  opinion.  We  talked  the  day  over 
merrily  as  we  walked  home,  where  we  found  Jasper 
waiting  for  us  in  the  study.  I  went  to  bed  early,  and 
fell  asleep  in  a  confused  whirl  of  ideas  and  images. 
I  remember  that  I  could  hardly  believe  that  it  was 
only  a  week  since  the  scientific  session  of  the  Deip- 
nosophoi  had  resulted  in  my  finding  myself  where  I 
was.  It  seemed  an  age  since  then.  I  don't  see  why 
it  should.  Why  should  my  making  the  acquaintance 
of  two  old  gentlemen  and  one  young  lady  (for  I  don't 


tJN] 


96  WENSLEY. 

believe  Jasper  had  anything  to  do  with  it)  make  that 
week  seem  so  long  ?  I  am  sure  it  had  been  a  pleasant 
one  enough.  But,  as  I  have  said  formerly,  I  am  no 
metaphysician,  and  only  state  facts  in  psychology, 
without  pretending  to  explain  them. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

BEING  ONE  OF  ACCIDENTS. 

acquaintance  with  Miss  Allerton  went  on 
prosperously  from  that  time  forward.  The 
next  Sunday  evening,  I  walked  over  to  Woodside  to 
call  upon  its  inhabitants  after  their  hospitality,  and 
was  invited  to  join  their  riding-party  the  next  after 
noon.  This  enabled  me  to  redeem  my  promise  to 
Major  Grimes,  that  I  would  improve  the  first  oppor 
tunity  that  offered  of  putting  the  virtues  of  Turk  to 
the  test  of  experience.  Perhaps  I  did  not  feel  as 
much  surprise,  after  this  taste  of  his  quality,  at 
Colonel  Allerton's  refusal  to  come  up  to  the  worthy 
Major's  terms  at  the  time  the  treaty  for  the  possession 
of  that  valuable  animal  was  pending,  as  his  gallant 
proprietor  expressed  when  he  gave  me  the  history  of 
the  negotiation.  But  I  forbear  to  dilate  on  his  per 
sonal  qualities.  Such  a  digression  would  be  foreign 
to  the  purpose  of  this  work.  If  his  performance  did 
not  absolutely  come  up  to  the  promise  of  the  Major, 
still  I  imagine  that  officer  was  not  the  first  military 
commander  whose  bulletin  was  more  brilliant  than 
his  campaign.  If  he  did  not  excel  all  other  steeds  in 
swiftness,  he  might  be  pardoned  as  a  comfortable 
7 


98  WENSLEY. 

exception  to  the  celerities  of  the  fast  age  in  which  he 
lived  ;  though  indeed,  at  that  time,  it  was  but  just 
getting  its  speed  up.  If  he  did  stumble  a  little  now 
and  then,  let  the  biped  that  hath  never  done  the  same 
thing,  and  with  less  provocation  and  on  a  smoother 
road,  throw  the  first  stone  at  poor  Turk.  I  remember 
him  with  emotions  of  tenderness  ;  for  he  is  associated 
with  the  beginning  of  a  memorable  acquaintanceship, 
and  of  a  succession  of  charming  rides,  that  lovely 
summer,  through  a  country  as  lovely,  in  my  eyes,  as 
the  summer  itself. 

Philosophers  differ  as  to  the  very  most  advanta 
geous  position  in  which  one  can  be  placed  in  relation 
to  a  charming  young  lady  on  whom  one  has  no  spe 
cific  objection  to  making  an  agreeable  impression. 
Some  think  that  a  walk  "  by  moon  or  glittering  star 
light  "  is  the  very  best  invention  that  the  wit  of  man 
hath  ever  hit  upon ;  other  some,  that  the  corner  of 
a  blazing  wood-fire  on  a  winter's  evening  is  indeed 
"a  coigne  of  vantage,"  if  rightly  improved  by  a  ju 
dicious  mind.  There  are  who  hold  that  a  sleigh-ride 
in  a  clear,  cold,  crackling  winter's  night,  is  not  inca 
pable  of  being  turned  to  a  good  account,  with  all  its 
manifold  exhilarations  and  excitations.  And  there 
are  not  wanting  who  maintain  that  a  ball-room,  with 
all  its  heat  and  crush  and  bustle,  — 

"When  music  softens,  and  when  dancing  fires, "- 

furnishes  that  exact  combination  of  proximity  and 
isolation,  which  constitutes  the  most  congenial  atmos- 


BEING   ONE   OF   ACCIDENTS.  99 

phere  for  civilized  love  to  grow  in,  from  the  first  incipi- 
ency  of  flirtation  to  the  final  desperation  of  proposal. 
There  was  much  to  be  said  in  behalf  of  this  theory  in 
the  days  before  the  incursions  of  barbarian  dances  had 
shaken  the  institutions  of  civilized  ball-rooms  to  their 
foundations.  The  country-dances  of  our  ancestors,  and 
the  quadrilles  of  our  own  times,  were  not  unfavorable 
to  the  gentle  flutterings  of  the  hovering  Loves.  But 
it  must  be  a  stout  Cupid  indeed,  of  a  robust  constitu 
tion  and  a  hardy  disposition,  that  can  stand  up  before 
the  frantic  rush  of  a  polka  or  redowa,  and  not  be 
swept  away  into  utter  annihilation  by  the  very  tem 
pest  and  whirlwind  of  those  whisking  petticoats. 

But  it  is  my  notion  that  a  tete-d-tete  ride  on  horse 
back,  through  lonely  lanes  and  solitary  wood-paths, 
is  not  the  worst  way  of  being  brought  into  confi 
dential  communications  with  a  lovely  young  woman. 
Sometimes,  you  know,  one  cannot  avoid  guiding  her 
bridle-hand  in  some  emergent  difficulty ;  and  cases 
have  corne  to  my  knowledge  in  which  an  enlightened 
philanthropy  could  not  be  satisfied  without  support 
ing  her  jimp  waist  with  a  sustaining  arm  in  narrow 
and  perilous  passes.  A  painful  and  dangerous  posi 
tion,  indeed ;  but  then,  you  must  allow,  one  could  not 
suffer  her  to  run  the  risk  of  falling  from  her  horse. 
I  wonder  the  Humane  Society  does  not  reward  such 
heroic  risks  by  the  awarding  of  gold  medals  to  the  vir 
tuous  adventurers.  Merely  plunging  into  the  water 
to  pull  out  a  stupid  boy  or  blundering  man  were  a 
safe  and  easy  feat  in  the  comparison. 


100  WENSLEY. 

My  Monday's  ride  with  Colonel  Allerton  and  his 
daughter  was  blessed  to  me  in  this  very  form  and 
manner.  Finding  that  I  was  a  tolerable  horseman, 
and  withal  a  very  modest  and  discreet  youth,  the  Colo 
nel  proposed  to  me  that  I  should  accompany  the 
young  lady  in  her  rides  during  the  rest  of  the  week, 
which,  as  he  had  previously  informed  me,  he  should 
be  obliged  to  pass  in  Boston. 

"  And,  by  the  by,"  said  he  in  reply  to  my  blushing 
acceptance  of  his  proposition,  —  "  by  the  by,  I  think 
you  had  better  make  use  of  my  Prince  here.  I  fancy 
he  will  carry  you  better  than  the  beast  you  have  under 
you.  Is  n't  that  the  horse  Grimes  wanted  me  to  buy  ?" 

"The  horse  you  wanted  to  buy  of  him,  rather,"  I 
replied,  laughing ;  "  for  that  was  the  statement  the 
Major  made  to  me  of  the  case." 

"  Was  it,  indeed  ! "  he  answered,  laughing  in  his 
turn.  "I  certainly  ought  to  have  wanted  to  buy  him 
if  he  had  had  half  the  virtues  vouched  for  him  by 
the  Major,  and  he  would  have  been  cheap  at  twice 
the  money.  But  it  was  he  proposed  the  trade,  and 
he  had  the  impudence  to  ask  three  hundred  dollars 
for  him." 

"  So  I  inferred,  from  what  dropped  from  him  after 
wards,"  said  I.  "  But  your  refusal,  sir,  raised  you 
many  degrees  in  his  estimation.  He  thinks  you  a 
doctor  in  the  science  he  esteems  the  highest  of  all,  — 
the  science  of  horse-flesh." 

"  I  could  hardly  help  picking  up  the  elements,"  he 
replied,  "  considering  I  was  for  more  than  twenty 


BEING   ONE   OF   ACCIDENTS.  101 

years  in  a  cavalry  regiment.  I  do  not  profess  to  be 
a  doctor,  or  even  a  master,  in  the  art ;  but  I  know 
enough  to  know  that  such  a  brute  as  that  is  not 
worth  the  half  of  three  hundred  dollars." 

The  next  day,  Colonel  Allerton  departed  for  Boston, 
and  in  the  afternoon  I  walked  over  to  Woodside, 
and  found  Miss  Eleanor  all  ready,  waiting  for  me ;  her 
Fairy  and  her  father's  Prince  pawing  the  gravel  be 
fore  the  hall-door.  We  were  soon  in  the  saddle,  and, 
as  she  was  perfectly  well  acquainted  with  the  coun 
try  for  ten  miles  round,  we  were  not  long  in  reaching 
as  sweet  a  winding  and  wooded  by-road  as  any  coun 
try  could  furnish.  The  mania  for  improvement,  so 
deeply  seated  in  the  character  of  New  England,  which, 
at  the  beginning  of  this  century,  found  its  relief  in 
cutting  infinitely  extended  straight  lines  of  turnpike 
roads  in  every  direction  over  the  country,  had  spared 
this  remote  corner  of  its  domain.  Even  the  road  to 
Haverford,  by  which  I  had  journeyed  to  Wensley, 
was  the  old  road,  which,  avoiding  the  turnpike  (as 
the  road  itself  is  invariably  called  in  New  England), 
meandered  about  from  village  to  village,  according  as 
the  early  settlers  had  arranged  the  division  of  the 
soil  when  they  first  helped  themselves  to  it.  And  so 
the  by-roads  through  which  our  course  lay  wound 
themselves  around  the  homesteads  and  outlying  fields 
of  the  farmers,  or  swept  by  the  skirts  of  their  wood 
lands  ( wood-lots  they  call  them  there),  like  Schiller's 
river,  — 

"Honoring  the  holy  bounds  of  property." 


102  WENSLEY. 

"Is  this  ride  anything  like  those  you  had  in 
Devonshire,  Miss  Allerton  ? "  I  inquired  of  my  fair 
companion,  as  the  road  plunged  into  a  depth  of  wood 
thick  with  brushwood,  the  branches  of  the  pines 
almost  making  it  impassable  for  two  riding  abreast,  so 
broad  and  long  did  they  stretch  themselves.  "  You 
are  too  civilized  there,  I  take  it,  to  permit  such  im 
pediments  as  these  to  cross  your  path." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "  England  has  been  inhabited 
rather  too  long  to  have  left  many  such  primitive 
scenes  as  this  —  at  least  in  the  south,  where  I  have 
mostly  lived.  I  never  saw  that,  for  instance,"  she 
said,  pointing  with  her  riding-whip  to  the  tangled 
undergrowth  which  choked  up  the  passages  between 
the  trunks  of  the  trees,  —  "I never  saw  anything  like 
that  till  I  came  here." 

"  And  you  wish  it  away,  as  a  deformity,  I  suppose," 
said  I. 

"  No,  not  as  a  deformity,"  she  replied.  "  It  is  char 
acteristic  of  an  aboriginal  wood,  as  I  suppose  this 
really  is  ;  for,  though  the  ancestors  of  these  trees  may 
have  been  cut  away  once  or  twice,  I  fancy  it  has  never 
been  anything  but  a  forest ;  and  it  is  picturesque  and 
beautiful  in  itself.  But  I  own  I  long  for  an  opening 
now  and  then  under  the  trees,  by  which  one  might 
escape  from  the  beaten  road,  like  a  damsel  or  knight 
of  fairy  in  quest  of  adventures." 

"  We  must  first  find  a  well-disposed  magician,  or 
benevolent  enchantress,  to  clear  our  way  for  us,"  I  an 
swered;  "  for  I  fear  that  we  shall  never  find  the  under- 


BEING  ONE   OF  ACCIDENTS.  103 

growth  cleared  away  by  any  Yankee,  until  the  caitiff  is 
ready  to  hew  down  the  trees  too,  as,  indeed,  he  is  but 
too  well  inclined  to  do.  We  are  but  beginning  to  out 
grow  the  antipathy  which  our  fathers  instilled  into  us 
against  trees  and  Indians.  As  they  grow  scarce,  we 
may  grow  merciful  to  the  aborigines  of  both  kinds." 

Talking  thus,  we  rode  along ;  and  my  companion 
entertained  me  with  descriptions  of  the  neighborhood 
of  Walford  Hall,  and  the  differences  between  those 
scenes  of  ancient  civilization  and  exact  culture,  and 
the  rough  and  half-reclaimed  country  around  us. 
Presently  she  drew  rein  at  a  narrow  opening  into  the 
forest  which  the  woodcutters  might  be  supposed  to 
have  made  for  their  own  occasions. 

"  Come,"  said  she,  "  what  say  you  to  trying  our  luck 
down  that  path  ?  Who  knows  but  it  may  lead  us  to 
some  adventure  ?  I  know  all  these  roads  by  heart ; 
and,  if  you  will  back  me,  I  will  try  and  find  out  a 
new  one." 

"  I  imagine  you  will  find  it  a  passage,  like  those  in 
the  Long  Story,  that  leads  to  nothing,"  I  answered. 
"  But  still,  if  you  are  for  the  trial,  I  '11  not  fail  you. 
Only  let  me  have  the  honor  of  leading  the  van,  and 
facing  the  perils  of  the  enterprise  first,  as  becomes  a 
good  knight." 

I  turned  my  horse's  head  for  the  purpose  of  preced 
ing  her,  and,  in  the  first  place,  of  removing  two  or 
three  bars  which  crossed  the  entrance;  but  she  was 
too  quick  for  me.  Giving  her  mare  a  smart  blow 
with  her  riding-whip,  like  another  Di  Yernon  she 


104  WEXSLEY. 

made  her  leap  the  low  fence,  and  so  secured  the  lead  ; 
for  the  pathway  was  too  narrow  to  admit  of  my  pass 
ing  her.  Now,  though  I  was  a  tolerable  horseman,  as 
I  have  already  said,  I  had  had  no  particular  experience 
in  leaping  fences,  that  being  a  freedom  in  which  we 
are  not  much  indulged  in  this  land  of  liberty.  But 
still,  like  Frank  Osbaldistone,  I  was  piqued  to  show 
my  horsemanship  by  such  an  example,  and  accordingly 
pressed  my  steed  to  the  point,  not  without  a  secret 
misgiving  that  I  might  find  myself  performing  a 
mathematical  curve  of  some  unknown  description 
over  his  head.  It  was  lucky  for  me  that  I  was  back 
ing  Prince  at  this  critical  moment ;  for  I  should  have 
been  sorry  to  put  Turk  up  to  such  a  trial  of  his  met 
tle.  But  Prince  took  the  fence  as  if  he  were  used  to 
much  greater  feats  than  this,  and  thought  but  little  of 
it.  So  I  followed  my  fair  leader,  who  shook  her  golden 
curls,  which  had  escaped  from  under  the  control  of 
her  riding- cap,  and  shot  me  through  and  through  with 
her  laughing  glances  as  she  looked  back  at  me. 

She  was  in  the  highest  spirits,  and  talked  and 
laughed  in  a  most  bewitching  manner.  We  could  not 
proceed  very  rapidly ;  and,  as  I  followed  in  her  track, 
I  had  an  excellent  opportunity  of  admiring  her  firm, 
erect  figure,  and  the  admirable  manner  in  which  she 
sat  her  horse.  Still  she  often  turned  her  face  half 
round  to  me,  and  chatted  away  in  the  liveliest  way 
possible.  The  absence  of  mind  which  I  had  observed 
at  my  first  interview,  and  of  which  there  had  been  an 
occasional  trace  at  the  few  times  I  had  seen  her  since, 


BEING  ONE   OF  ACCIDENTS.  105 

was  entirely  gone.  The  exhilaration  of  the  fine,  clear 
sky ;  the  delicious  air,  fragrant  with  the  spicy  smell  of 
the  pines,  and  growing  cool  as  the  sun  dipped  lower 
and  lower ;  the  excitement  of  the  exercise,  joined  to 
the  sense  of  pleasure  which  must  always,  I  suppose, 
attend  an  exploring  expedition  on  however  minute  a 
scale,  —  all  united  to  make  her  seem  a  totally  different 
creature  from  what  I  had  imagined  her  from  my  pre 
vious  observations. 

And  possibly  it  might  have  been  that  the  compan 
ionship  of  the  only  young  creature  she  had  seen  for 
so  many  months  helped  to  unlock  her  spirits  by  the 
secret  magic  of  youthful  sympathy.  She  must  have 
discerned  that  I  was  a  harmless  as  well  as  a  sheepish 
youth,  without  the  least  mixture  of  the  lady-killer 
in  my  composition.  She  could  not  but  know  that  I 
admired  her  extremely ;  and,  in  that  desert,  even  the 
admiration  of  a  college  lad  like  me  was  something. 
Moreover,  I  had  made  no  demonstrations  of  a  love- 
making  nature.  I  was  by  far  too  modest  for  that, 
had  I  had  any  constitutional  tendency  to  that  com 
plaint,  or  rather  vice.  Making  love,  indeed  !  A  vile 
phrase  —  as  bad  as  that  of  "  falling  in  love,"  which 
Yorick  justly  reprobates  as  implying  that  "love  is 
something  beneath  a  man."  No,  no  !  Love  is  none 
of  your  confounded  manufactures.  It  is  an  indige 
nous  growth.  You  cannot  make  it.  You  may  tend 
and  cherish  and  foster  it,  and  sit  in  its  shadow,  and 
crown  yourself  with  its  blossoms,  and  feast  upon  its 
fruits  unto  everlasting  life ;  but  you  can  no  more 


106  WENSLEY. 

make  it  than  you  can  make  a  rosebush  or  a  grape 
vine. 

And  now  I  suppose  my  readers  would  like  to  know 
whether  this  magic  growth  had  sprung  up  in  my 
heart,  and  taken  possession  of  me.  A  very  natural 
curiosity,  I  admit,  but  one  which  I  hardly  think  it 
time  yet  to  satisfy.  I  fully  concede  the  reciprocal 
rights  and  duties  of  this  confessional,  of  which  these 
lines,  at  which  the  reader  looks  and  listens  to  me,  may 
represent  the  bars,  or  lattice ;  and  I  shall  be  ready  to 
make  a  clean  breast  of  it  in  due  time.  Perhaps  I  am 
not,  at  this  point  of  my  narrative,  in  a  sufficiently 
penitential  frame  of  mind.  Possibly  I  am  not  clear 
in  my  own  mind  how  it  was  with  me  at  that  precise 
point  of  time.  You  know  that  my  acquaintance  with 
her  was  very  young.  "  Ah,  yes  ! "  you  will  reply ; 
"  and  so  is  Dan  Cupid  very  young  too.  We  all  know 
from  authentic  story,  if  not  from  our  own  experience, 
—  we  all  know  that  he  springs  to  life,  all  armed,  at  a 
single  glance  of  an  eye."  I  admit  the  general  prop 
osition  ;  but  then,  I  have  already  assured  you  that  she 
had  not  shown  the  faintest  symptom  of  falling  in  love 
with  me.  But  here  you  shake  your  heads  with  one 
consent,  and  agree  that  that  is  nothing  to  the  purpose. 
Why,  what  would  become  of  the  whole  tribe  of  novel- 
writers  and  story-tellers,  if  the  course  of  true  love  ran 
smooth  all  the  time  ?  Are  they  not  obliged  to  cast 
about,  every  mother's  son  of  them,  for  sticks  and 
stones  to  throw  into  the  stream,  so  as  to  make  it  chafe 
and  murmur  the  more  musically  rough  in  its  passage 


BEING   ONE   OF   ACCIDENTS.  107 

to  the  tranquil  lake  of  matrimony,  which  they  have 
spread  out  to  receive  it  at  last  ? 

This,  again,  I  cannot  gainsay.  But,  then,  I  have 
not  told  you  yet  the  fatal  truth,  that  I  had  formed 
the  decided  opinion  that  she  was  at  least  a  year,  if  not 
two  years,  older  than  I.  I  positively  looked  upon  her 
with  a  certain  sensation  of  respect  for  her  advanced 
years,  and,  whatever  sentiment  I  entertained  for  her, 
it  was  qualified  by  a  feeling  of  reverence  for  her  age. 
I  thought  she  must  be  at  least  as  much  as  twenty. 
And  here,  once  more,  you  all  look  arch  and  knowing, 
and  ask  me  if  I  don't  know  that  a  man  always  falls 
in  love,  for  the  first  time,  with  a  woman  older  than 
himself.  You  are  right  again,  my  friends.  Your 
observation  is  founded  in  the  nature  of  things,  and  is 
just  as  well  as  original.  But,  then,  how  do  you  know 
that  it  was  the  first  time  ?  Have  I  opened  to  you  the 
seals  of  all  the  books  of  my  whole  past  history  .  Did 
I  tell  you  who  it  was  that  I  used  to  lift  off  her  horse, 
when  it  was  on  the  very  tip  of  my  tongue,  in  narrat 
ing  one  of  the  most  surprising  adventures  of  this  true 
history  ?  If  you  only  patiently  bide  your  times,  you 
will  be  told  all  things  that  are  fit  and  edifying  for  you 
to  know. 

In  this  manner  we  fared  onwards,  finding  it  very 
often  hard  enough  to  keep  our  saddles,  so  difficult  was 
it  in  places  to  make  our  way  good  through  the  boughs 
interlacing  across  our  pathway.  Presently,  however, 
she  called  cheerily  to  me  to  make  haste  after  her,  for 
she  had  come  within  sight  of  land.  I  was  soon  by 


108  WENSLEY. 

her  side,  and  found  that  our  narrow  way  emptied,  so 
to  speak,  into  a  wide  clearing,  which  showed  signs  of 
having  been  cultivated  at  some  former  time,  though 
then  in  a  sluggardly  condition.  Here  and  there 
charred  stumps  raised  themselves  above  the  level  of 
the  field ;  but  they  looked  as  if  the  rains  of  many 
summers,  and  the  snows  of  many  winters,  had  been 
blanching  their  grim  skeletons  since  they  were  first 
submitted  to  the  ordeal  of  fire.  But  the  greater  part 
of  the  plain  was  perfectly  cleared,  and  furnished  a 
sufficiently  hard  surface  for  riding  purposes.  It  was 
nearly  surrounded  by  wooded  hills ;  the  pine-trees 
sloping  upwards  to  the  hill-tops,  and  looking  like  spec 
tators  in  some  vast  amphitheatre,  peering  over  one 
another's  heads  at  the  arena  in  which  we  were  the 
sole  actors. 

"  A  race,  a  race  !  "  she  exclaimed ;  and,  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word,  she  put  her  mare  to  her  speed,  and 
I  was  not  slow  to  do  the  same  good  office  by  Prince. 
The  horses  sprang  forward  over  the  turf  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  only  opening  in  the  amphitheatre  of  hills, 
which  appeared  to  be  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
distant. 

My  horse  was  much  stronger  and  heavier  than 
hers,  and  in  a  long  run  he  would,  undoubtedly,  have 
had  the  advantage.  But  for  a  short  distance  Fairy 
was  more  than  a  match  for  him ;  and,  besides,  her 
mistress  was  perfectly  well  acquainted  with  her  ways, 
and  could  command  her  best  speed,  as  I  could  not  well 
do  the  first  time  I  had  ever  been  upon  Prince's  back. 


BEING  ONE  OF  ACCIDENTS.  109 

So  my  companion  had  fairly  the  start  of  me,  and  was 
entering  the  gap  in  the  hills,  which  was  the  goal  at 
which  we  aimed,  when  I  had  not  cleared  much  more 
than  two-thirds  of  the  distance.  She  was  hid  from 
me  for  an  instant  by  the  shape  of  the  ground ;  and 
the  next  moment  I  was  horror-stricken  to  hear  a  sud 
den  splash  and  scream  from  the  direction  where  she 
had  disappeared.  I  struck  my  spurs  "  up  to  the  rowel- 
head  "  into  the  sides  of  my  horse,  who  leaped  forward 
as  if  intelligent  of  the  distress,  and  in  an  instant  I 
was  on  the  spot  from  which  the  cry  came.  The  first 
glance  showed  the  nature  and  occasion  of  the  accident. 
The  Quasheen,  which  washed  the  wood  on  that  side, 
was  so  near  the  opening  at  which  I  had  lost  sight  of 
my  companion,  that,  before  she  could  check  her  speed, 
her  horse  carried  her  into  the  middle  of  the  stream, 
where,  by  the  suddenness  of  the  shock,  she  lost  her 
seat,  and  was  plunged  into  the  river. 

The  stream,  though  not  wide,  was  deep,  and  quite 
sufficient  to  drown  a  stouter  person  than  Miss  Aller- 
ton.  But,  though  she  had  lost  her  seat,  she  had  not 
lost  her  presence  of  mind ;  and  she  held  fast  by  Fairy's 
mane,  being  well  assured  that  she  would  bring  her 
through  her  peril.  I  threw  myself  from  my  horse, 
and  was  already  in  the  water,  when  my  hopes  of 
being  the  preserver  of  my  fair  charge  were  unex 
pectedly  disappointed.  A  man  suddenly  stepped 
into  the  river  opposite  where  she  was  (for  Fairy 
had  swum  a  little  way  down  the  stream),  and, 
seizing  Miss  Allerton  by  her  floating  riding-habit, 


110  WENSLEY. 

drew  her  towards  him,  and  then  carried  her  in  his 
arms  to  the  landing-place  whence  she  had  made  her 
plunge. 

Oh,  should  n't  I  have  liked  to  have  killed  him  at  that 
moment !  And  then  to  be  obliged  to  thank  him  for 
having  robbed  me  of  my  unquestionable  prerogative  ! 
But  any  such  emotions  as  these  were  soon  put  to 
flight  by  the  effect  which  the  sight  of  her  rescuer 
produced  upon  Miss  Allerton  when  she  had  fairly  re 
covered  herself  enough  to  look  at  him,  which  was  as 
soon  as  he  had  set  her  down,  dripping  like  a  Naiad, 
upon  her  feet.  Clearly,  all  recollection  of  her  recent 
danger  and  of  her  obligation  to  the  man  before  her 
was  lost  in  stronger  emotions.  She  seemed  struck 
mute  with  amazement,  and  to  be  pale  with  some  yet 
stronger  passion.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  looked 
like  fear.  The  man  was  obviously  a  gentleman  ; 
thougli  he  was  roughly  dressed  for  trout-fishing,  in 
a  coarse  sailor's  jacket,  boots  which  came  up  above 
his  knees,  and  a  weather-beaten,  broad-brimmed  hat. 
His  face  was  as  pale  as  hers,  but  calm  with  a  calm 
ness  that  concealed  deep  feelings  of  some  sort.  In 
the  surprise  and  suddenness  of  the  whole  thing,  I 
could  not  read  his  features  very  accurately ;  but,  as 
I  remembered  them  afterwards,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  they  conveyed  a  strange  expression  of  exulta 
tion  and  defiance,  with  some  deeper  passion  under 
all;  but  I  could  not  make  out  whether  it  were  love 
or  hate.  I  remember  I  thought  it  could  hardly  be 
the  first.  He  must  have  long  since  survived  that 


BEING   ONE   OF   ACCIDENTS.  Ill 

passion  at  the  age  he  had  reached.     He  was,  proba 
bly,  about  five  or  six  and  thirty. 

As  soon  as  Miss  Allerton  could  command  her  voice, 
she  said  to  him,  with  a  tone  in  which  was  mingled 
no  gratitude  for  the  service  he  had  done  her,  but  only 
coldness  and  aversion,  and,  as  it  still  seemed  to  me, 
some  dash  of  terror,  — "And  so  you  have  followed  us 
hither,  too  ? " 

"  You  I  have  followed  hither,  and  will  follow  far 
ther  than  this,  as  you  might  have  guessed.  But "  — 
He  paused,  and,  turning  to  me,  said,  "  Perhaps  this 
young  gentleman  will  be  good  enough  to  catch  your 
horse  for  you,  or  it  may  get  out  of  reach  down  the 
stream." 

I  understood  the  drift  of  his  suggestion,  and  looked 
at  Miss  Allerton  for  instructions. 

"  Do,"  said  she,  inclining  her  head  to  me.  So  I 
had  nothing  left  for  it  but  to  go  and  leave  them 
together,  to  my  most  cruel  disappointment;  for  the 
adventure  seemed  to  be  fast  reaching  its  climax.  I 
hurried  along  the  bank  of  the  river,  sometimes  hav 
ing  to  wade  in  it  up  to  my  middle,  as  the  trees  often 
grew  so  close  to  the  water's  edge  that  there  was  no 
room  to  stand  on.  I  had  toiled  on  in  this  way  for 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  before  T  came  to  poor  Fairy, 
who  had  not  yet  found  rest  for  the  sole  of  her  foot. 
She  was  just  trying  to  scramble  up  a  steep  bank  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  river  when  I  came  upon  her : 
so  I  had  fairly  to  plunge  in,  accoutred  as  I  was,  to 
reach  her,  and  thus  was  as  thoroughly  drenched  in 


112  WENSLEY. 

her  service  as  I  had  been  most  desirous  of  being  in 
that  of  her  mistress.  My  only  comfort  was,  that  her 
mistress  seemed  as  little  pleased  with  the  way  of  her 
escape  as  I  could  be  myself.  So,  contenting  myself 
as  well  as  I  could  with  these  reflections,  I  took 
Fairy's  bridle  over  my  arm,  and  made  the  best  of 
my  way,  like  an  active  personage  whose  name  it 
would  be  improper  to  name  in  this  presence, 

"  O'er  bog  or  steep,  through  strait,  rough,  dense,  or  rare," 

until  I  found  myself  at  the  point  from  which  I  had 
started. 

If  I  had  happened  to  be  in  love  with  the  fair 
Eleanor,  I  certainly  had  no  occasion  for  jealousy  in 
the  relations  she  seemed  to  hold  with  the  stranger. 
They  were  so  absorbed  in  what  they  were  saying, 
that  they  did  not  notice  my  approach  at  first;  so 
that  I  could  not  help  hearing  Miss  Allerton  say, — 

"  I  owe  you  no  thanks  for  that.  I  could  have  saved 
myself  without  your  help ;  and,  if  not,  God  knows 
I  had  rather  have  died  than  owe  my  life  to  you." 

"  You  are  an  ungrateful  girl,"  he  replied,  with  a 
smile  which  made  me  hate  him  more  than  ever.  "  But 
you  will  behave  better  by  and  by,  and  know  that  I 
am,  if  you  will  let  me  be  so,  your  best  friend." 
Eleanor  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "At  least 
you  know,"  he  resumed,  as  if  provoked,  but  still 
calmly,  —  "you  know  that  it  is  not  the  first  time 
I  have  saved  you.  It  may  be,"  he  added  signifi 
cantly,  — "  it  may  be,  that  the  time  may  come  when 


BEING   ONE   OF   ACCIDENTS.  113 

I  will  not.  But  here  comes  your  horse,"  perceiving 
me  for  the  first  time.  "  Let  me  put  you  on  him,  and 
entreat  you  to  lose  no  time  in  getting  home." 

He  advanced  towards  her ;  but  she  turned  from 
him,  and,  beckoning  to  me,  invited  my  assistance  to 
place  her  in  her  soaking  saddle.  She  turned  her 
horse's  head  away  from  him,  and  took  no  notice  of 
the  parting  salutation  he  made  her.  I  mounted 
Prince,  whom  the  stranger  had  secured  to  a  tree 
after  I  had  gone  in  search  of  Fairy,  and  followed 
her,  touching  my  hat  to  my  unknown  acquaintance, 
which  he  did  not  return,  —  not,  however,  from  inci 
vility,  as  I  judged,  but  because  he  was  looking  so 
earnestly  after  the  lady,  that  he  did  not  see  me. 
Miss  Allerton  disappeared  first  in  the  wood ;  and,  as 
I  took  a  parting  look  behind,  I  saw  him  slowly  turn 
away,  and  walk  towards  the  bank  of  the  river.  But 
I  imagine  his  fishing  was  over  for  that  clay. 

Miss  Allerton  and  I  pursued  our  way  in  silence. 
As  I  followed  her,  I  could  perceive  that  she  was 
deeply  agitated,  and  that  she  was  indebted  more  to 
Fairy's  instinct  than  her  own  care  for  getting  safely 
over  the  narrow  and  uneven  pathway.  In  one  place 
it  was  just  wide  enough  for  two  persons  to  ride 
abreast.  She  drew  on  one  side,  and  walked  her 
horse,  as  an  invitation  to  me  to  join  her. 

"Mr.  Osborne,"  she  presently  said  in  an  agitated 
voice,  "  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you.  It  is,  that  you 
will  not  mention  what  you  have  seen  to-day  to  any 
one." 

8 


114  WENSLEY. 

I  readily  gave  her  the  assurance  she  asked  for. 

"I  cannot  tell  at  this  moment,"  she  went  on, 
"  how  far  I  may  explain  to  you  what  you  must  have 
thought  so  strange  —  not  stranger,  I  am  sure,  than 
it  has  seemed  to  me.  But  you  shall  know  all  about 
it  some  time  or  other." 

"  If  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you,  my  dear  Miss 
Allerton,"  said  I,  "tell  me  what  you  think  best. 
But  I  do  not  desire  to  pry  into  any  of  your  affairs,  as 
a  mere  busybody  in  other  men's  matters." 

I  lied  there ;  for  I  was  dying  to  know  all  about 
them. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Osborne,"  she  resumed,  in  a  voice 
scarcely  audible  from  agitation,  "  I  am  an  unhappy 
girl,  no  mother,  no  sister,  no  friend,  and  yet  need 
ing  so  much  the  sympathy  and  help  of  the  wisest 
and  tenderest  friendship." 

She  could  contain  herself  no  longer,  but  fairly 
burst  into  tears  on  Fairy's  neck  —  on  Fairy's,  who 
seemed  perfectly  callous  to  the  blessing.  Launce's 
dog  could  not  have  been  more  insensible  to  the  afflic 
tion  of  his  respectable  family.  Was  there  never 
another  neck  near  that  would  serve  her  turn  ? 

1  was  a  tender-hearted  youth  at  that  time,  and 
the  sight  of  a  woman  crying  was  too  much  for  me. 
Perhaps  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  confess  that  it  was 
all  I  could  do  to  keep  from  bearing  her  company ; 
but  I  am  not.  I  was  deeply  moved  at  her  distress, 
and  would  have  given  the  world  (or  as  much  of  it  as 
usually  falls  to  the  share  of  any  one  person)  to  com 
fort  her. 


BEING   ONE   OF  ACCIDENTS.  115 

"  But  my  dear  Miss  Allerton,"  I  ejaculated,  think 
ing,  like  a  fool,  that  I  must  say  something,  "  there  is 
your  father." 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  fresh  burst  of 
weeping,  —  "  yes,  dear  papa  !  But,  then,  he  "  —  she 
interrupted  herself,  and  presently  added,  "  I  hardly 
know  what  I  say,  my  spirits  are  so  confused  by  the 
surprise  of  this  afternoon.  Pardon  me  if  I  say  noth 
ing  ;  for  I  may  say  what  I  ought  not." 

As  we  were  now  approaching  the  high-road,  she 
evidently  made  a  strong  effort  to  command  herself. 
She  dried  her  eyes,  and,  pulling  down  her  veil,  pro 
posed  that  we  should  get  over  the  ground  as  fast  as 
possible,  that  we  might  avoid  at  once  observation  and 
the  ill  consequences  of  our  exposures.  Though  she 
said  this,  I  believe  she  was  thinking  as  little  as  I  of 
the  watery  plight  which  we  were  both  in.  I  believed 
the  strong  excitement  she  was  under  would  prove  an 
effectual  antidote  to  the  wetting  she  had  got ;  and,  as 
for  mine,  I  cared  nothing  for  it.  I  would  repeat  the 
treatment  every  day  for  a  month  in  her  good  company. 
We  fortunately  arrived  at  Woodside  without  meeting 
any  of  the  Wensleyans,  but  were  received  by  Jona 
than  Snell,  when  he  came  to  take  our  horses,  with  the 
most  unequivocal  marks  of  astonishment  and  concern. 
And  no  wonder  ;  for  a  pair  of  more  thoroughly  ducked 
fellow-creatures  could  have  seldom  come  within  the 
range  of  his  philosophy. 

"Mr.  Osborne,"  said  Miss  Allerton  to  me  when 
we  alighted,  "  I  insist  upon  your  coming  in  until 


116  WENSLEY. 

Jonathan  can  put   the  horse   into  the  gig  to  take 
you  home." 

I  remonstrated ;  but  she  persisted.  "  You  need 
not  fear  giving  extraordinary  trouble;  for  I  must 
send  him  to  the  village  directly,  and  he  can  take  you 
round  perfectly  well." 

This  being  the  case,  I  yielded  to  her  kindness, 
and  not  the  less  willingly  from  the  consciousness  of 
what  a  figure  I  should  cut  in  passing  the  strait  by 
the  bridge,  between  the  post-office  and  the  black 
smith's  shop,  as  well  as  of  the  gossip  of  which  I 
would  be  the  theme  for  the  next  week.  So  I  went 
into  Colonel  Allerton's  own  room,  where  his  fire  was 
still  kept  trimmed  and  burning,  notwithstanding  his 
absence  from  home,  and  gyrated  before  it  like  an 
animated  joint  of  meat  primitively  suspended  by  a 
string,  with  a  penchant  for  roasting.  Miss  Allerton 
retired  up  stairs,  and  I  saw  her  no  more  that  day. 
When  the  master  of  the  horse  was  ready,  I  joined 
him,  and  we  set  forward  for  the  village.  That  emi 
nent  officer  of  the  household,  of  course,  was  curious 
to  know  the  particulars  of  our  adventure  ;  which  I 
gave  him,  with  no  more  of  the  suppress-to  veri  than 
the  case  required.  He  was  not  a  man  of  many  words, 
and  he  made  use  of  very  few  on  this  occasion ;  but 
it  was  quite  clear  to  my  mind,  that  he  thought  me  a 
very  incompetent  person  to  have  charge  of  his  young 
lady.  And  perhaps  he  was  not  far  wrong. 

When  we  came  to  the  post-office,  instead  of 
driving  by,  as  I  had  hoped,  he  drew  up  at  the  door, 


BEING   ONE   OF  ACCIDENTS.  117 

which  was  watched,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  by  a  double 
corps  of  observation,  which  made  ample  use  of  its 
opportunities  as  I  sat  holding  the  reins.  Jonathan, 
as  he  resigned  them  to  my  deputed  care,  took  a 
letter  from  his  pocket,  which  I  saw  at  a  glance  was 
carelessly  folded,  and  hurriedly  written,  and  directed 
to  Colonel  Allerton.  He  said  Miss  Eleanor  was 
earnest  that  it  should  not  miss  the  mail-coach  which 
would  pass  through  from  Pentland  on  the  edge  of 
the  evening  of  that  day. 

So  she  had  written  to  her  father  an  account  of 
the  adventure  she  had  encountered.  It  was,  then, 
nothing  peculiarly  and  especially  her  own.  That 
was  some  consolation  in  my  ignorance.  What  could 
be  the  rights  or  the  wrongs  of  the  matter  ?  I  had 
no  time  for  protracted  speculation,  however;  for  I 
was  soon  deposited  at  the  minister's  door,  who  was 
at  first  alarmed  by  my  appearance,  and  then  diverted 
by  my  story,  told,  as  it  had  been  to  Snell,  according 
to  Captain  Absolute's  directions,  with  "  no  more 
lies  than  were  absolutely  necessary."  I  thought  he 
would  never  be  done  rallying  me  on  iny  misadven 
tures  as  a  Squire  of  Dames.  But  I  was  too  full  of 
what  I  could  not  tell  him  to  mind  much  his  comic 
commentary  on  what  I  could.  My  boyish  sensitive 
ness  was  somehow  hardened  over  since  the  morning. 
I  did  not  mind  his  fun  half  so  much  as  I  should 
have  done  the  day  before.  Indeed,  it  was  rather  a 
relief  to  me. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  WHICH  ANOTHER   CHARACTER   APPEARS. 


said  Mr.  Bulkley  to  me  the  next 
morning,  as  we  sat  at  breakfast,  "  do  you  recol 
lect  who  your  grandmother  was  ?  " 

"My  grandmother?"  I  repeated.  "I  suppose  I 
must  have  had  the  usual  allowance  ;  but  really,  sir, 
upon  my  word,  I  "  —  And  I  shook  my  head.  "  But 
what  is  my  grandmother,  supposing  I  had  one,  apropos 
to  —  to  loots  ?  " 

"No,  no  !  "  returned  he  —  "  to  something  much  more 
to  the  purpose  than  boots.  I  mean  your  father's 
mother  —  was  she  not  a  Shuldham?" 

"  That  was  the  name,  I  am  quite  sure  ;  though  I 
am  afraid  I  should  not  have  been  able  to  recall  it  of 
myself.  But  what  of  her,  sir  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Much,  and  to  the  purpose,"  he  replied.  "  Your 
grandmother  Shuldham'  8  mother  was  a  Tindall,  daugh 
ter  of  Lieutenant-Governor  Tindall,  who  died  in  of 
fice  in  the  year  1717,  or  thereabouts  ;  and  his  son 
Matthew,  who  was  for  so  many  years  speaker  of  the 
House,  had  an  only  daughter.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,"  I  answered,  "  I  cannot  deny  it,  if  I 
wished  to.  But  how  does  it  concern  me  ?" 


IN  WHICH  ANOTHER   CHARACTER   APPEARS.       119 

"  Thus,"  he  replied.  "  That  daughter  married  Judge 
John  Allerton,  and  was,  consequently,  the  mother  of 
the  Colonel.  D  'ye  see  now,  young  man  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  I  answered.  "  I  see  that  the  Aller- 
tons  and  I  are  far-away  cousins,  and  "  — 

"  Far-away  cousins  ! "  he  interrupted.  "  Only  four 
degrees  removed !  Do  you  call  that  far  away  ? 
When  I  was  a  young  man,  sir,  I  should  have  called 
cousins  with  a  pretty  girl  like  Miss  Eleanor,  if  it  were 
twice  as  many." 

I  laughed,  and  assured  him  that  I  was  infinitely 
obliged  to  him  for  bestowing  upon  me  so  charming  a 
relation,  and  that  I  would  claim  all  my  cousinly  privi 
leges,  even  though  the  claim  were  as  many  removes 
farther  off.  And  this  I  subsequently  did ;  and  it 
gained  me  one  great  advantage  when  my  cousinship 
was  allowed,  as  it  was,  with  much  merriment,  as  soon 
as  I  communicated  to  them  this  result  of  the  good 
parson's  genealogical  studies,  in  which,  indeed,  he  was 
a  great  proficient.  Miss  Allerton  and  I  became 
Cousin  Eleanor  and  Cousin  Frank  from  that  time 
forward  ;  an  advantage,  which  if  the  reader  doth  not 
appreciate,  he  is  unworthy  of  ever  having  a  pretty 
cousin,  —  an  institution  the  blessings  of  which  should 
be  confined  to  those  who  can  properly  value  them. 
But  this  was  not  immediately  acquired,  as  it  was  some 
time  before  I  felt  that  I  was  intimate  enough,  or  that 
Miss  Allerton  would  relish  a  jocose  interlude  of  this 
sort,  after  the  tragic,  or  at  least  melodramatic,  adven 
ture  of  the  forest  and  the  river.  Indeed,  I  did  not 


120  WENSLEY. 

see  her  for  the  rest  of  that  week.  That  plaguy  fel 
low  in  the  jack-boots,  whoever  he  might  be,  had 
effectually  put  an  end  to  our  rides  together  for  the 
time  being.  I  could  not  tell  what  influence  he  might 
have  upon  the  fair  Eleanor's  fortunes  ;  but  I  was 
sure  I  cursed  him  by  my  gods  for  his  sinister  inter 
ference  with  mine. 

Colonel  Allerton  returned  before  the  end  of  the 
week,  recalled,  doubtless,  by  his  daughter's  letter. 
I  had  called,  of  course,  the  day  after  our  adventure, 
on  Miss  Allerton,  to  "  humbly  hope  she  caught  no 
cold"  from  her  accident;  but  Petchell,  her  maid, 
brought  me  a  very  kind  message,  saying  that  she 
should  not  leave  her  chamber  for  a  day  or  two,  in 
consequence  of  it;  after  which  time  she  should  be 
glad  to  see  me.  So  I  had  perforce  to  wait  until  her 
father  came  back.  After  his  return,  I  visited  at  Wood- 
side  as  usual,  and  was  even  more  cordially  and  kindly 
treated  than  before.  Eleanor  looked  a  little  paler 
than  usual,  though  her  roses  were  usually  rather  York 
ist  than  Lancastrian,  but  all  the  more  charming  from 
the  new  and  mysterious  interest  I  felt  in  her.  Noth 
ing  could  be  kinder  than  her  reception  of  me  when  we 
first  met ;  and  after  that  meeting,  at  which  her  man 
ner  was  necessarily  a  little  tinged  by  a  consciousness 
of  what  had  passed  when  we  were  last  together,  she 
fell  back  into  very  much  her  former  way  of  life  and 
conversation. 

Perhaps  a  shade  more  of  sadness  clouded  her  serene 
beauty,  and  perhaps  her  thoughts  wandered  oftener 


IN   WHICH  ANOTHER   CHARACTER  APPEARS.         121 

from  the  things  around  her.  Perhaps,  however,  this 
was  only  my  imagination ;  and,  at  any  rate,  I  had 
now  no  difficulty  in  accounting  for  and  excusing  those 
untimely  flights  from  the  ignorant  present  to  the  past 
or  the  future.  What  would  I  not  have  given  to  have 
been  able  to  look  down  through  those  lustrous  eyes, 
at  the  soul  that  looked  out  of  them,  and  see  what  was 
hidden  from  my  sight,  and  to  have  known  why  it  was 
disquieted  within  her!  What  were  the  phantoms, 
the  spectres,  that  passed  before  her  eyes  when  they 
looked  into  vacancy  ? 

"Ah,  fixed  on  empty  space,  why  burn 

Her  eyes  with  momentary  wildness  ? 
And  wherefore  do  they  then  return 
To  more  than  woman's  mildness  ? " 

How  I  longed  to  protect  her,  to  cherish  her,  to 
drive  far  away  whatever  it  was  that  molested  and 
made  her  afraid !  But  I  feared  that  this  adventure 
was  not  reserved  for  me. 

After  the  Colonel's  return,  our  rides  were  resumed, 
and  Turk  once  more  had  the  honor  of  keeping  com 
pany,  by  their  grace  and  favor,  with  Prince  and  Fairy. 
Occasionally,  when  her  father  was  occupied,  I  was 
again  allowed  the  privilege  of  escorting  her  alone. 
But  we  had  no  more  adventures  of  the  wood  and  the 
stream.  Eleanor's  passion  for  exploring  seemed  sat 
isfied  ;  and  we  kept  to  the  highway  in  as  humdrum  a 
fashion  as  the  most  rabid  stickler  for  the  proprieties 
of  life  could  require.  She  saw  no  more,  when  I  was 
in  company,  of  the  intrusive  benefactor  of  the  Qua- 


122  WENSLEY. 

sheen,  and  she  never  made  any  allusion  to  him  or  his 
works.  So  I  was  obliged  to  solace  myself  with  the 
recollection  of  her  promise,  that  one  day  I  should 
know  all  about  him.  Indeed,  I  cannot  deny,  though 
Eleanor  proposed  no  new  voyages  of  discovery,  that 
I  may  not  have  attempted  one  or  two  on  my  own  ac 
count.  I  whipped  the  Quasheen  for  trout  more  than 
one  Saturday,  for  miles  (though  neither  the  Quasheen 
nor  the  trout  suffered  much  from  the  flagellation),  in 
hopes  of  coming  upon  that  anomalous  angler  yet 
once  again.  But  I  saw  him  not.  He  -was  as  shy  as 
the  trout  themselves. 

Afterwards  I  visited  the  taverns  of  the  neighbor 
ing  towns,  and  made  many  a  libation  of  punch  and 
toddy  on  the  altar  of  my  curiosity ;  and  not  wholly 
in  vain.  Captain  Pettingell,  who  kept  the  Rising 
Sun  in  Bradfield,  the  next  town,  thus  invoked,  told 
me,  from  the  oracular  recesses  of  his  bar,  that  a  per 
son  answering  my  description  had  staid  at  his  place 
for  a  week  or  ten  days ;  that  his  name  was  Smith ; 
and  that  he  was  gone  all  day  with  his  fishing-tackle 
and  sometimes,  he  added,  came  back  with  fish  enough 
for  a  week's  consumption,  and  sometimes  without 
having  had  a  bite.  The  captain  believed  him  to  have 
been  a  Britisher ;  but  as  he  paid  his  way  well,  and 
was  a  good  friend  to  the  house,  he  overlooked  that 
error,  as  well  as  a  way  he  had  of  profanely  cursing 
and  swearing  (the  captain  was  a  professor,  and  a  pillar 
of  Dr.  Babson's  church)  when  anything  happened  to 
go  against  the  grain.  And,  by  the  captain's  account, 


IN   WHICH   ANOTHER   CHARACTER   APPEARS.         123 

he  had  given  his  vocabulary  in  this  kind  an  airing 
extraordinary,  one  night  when  he  came  home  dripping 
wet  from  having  missed  his  footing,  and  fallen  into 
the  river.  He  seemed  to  have  taken  this  accident, 
one  surely  ordinarily  incidental  to  the  gentle  craft, 
so  much  to  heart,  that  he  had  retired  from  the  neigh 
borhood  in  disgust,  and  taken  the  Pentland  coach  the 
next  morning  for  Boston.  This  was  all  I  got  in  re 
payment  of  much  time  and  some  liquor  which  I 
wasted  in  this  research ;  and  it  was  not  much  more 
than  I  had  known  before. 

Matters  went  on  thus  for  a  few  weeks,  when  my 
frequent  complaints  of  the  inadequacy  of  Turk  to  the 
exigencies  of  my  case  induced  Mr.  Bulkely  to  suggest 
whether  it  would  not  be  better  for  me  to  have  a  horse 
of  my  own.  This  proposition  met  with  my  cordial 
approbation;  and  Jasper  was  forthwith  called  into 
council  as  to  the  possibility  of  carrying  it  out.  As  I 
had  already  established  myself  in  his  good  graces 
by  my  admiration  of  his  master,  and  my  eager  atten 
tion  to  his  own  personal  narrative,  —  which  I  de 
lighted  in  extracting  from  him,  and  which,  to  do  him 
justice,  he  was  ready  enough  to  communicate,  —  he 
was  not  long  in  consenting  to  advise  what  he  saw 
we  both  wished  to  be  done.  He  loved  a  good  horse, 
he  said,  arid  should  like  to  take  care  of  one  of  Mr. 
Frank's,  if  he  only  had  time.  This  objection  Mr. 
Bulkley  made  light  of,  and  I  made  away  with  by 
offering  to  pay  for  the  hire  of  as  much  outdoor  labor 
as  would  make  good  his  outlay  in  my  behalf.  This 


124  WENSLEY. 

having  been  made  all  easy,  the  next  thing  was  to 
obtain  the  consent  of  Mr.  Moulton,  my  guardian,  to 
this  investment  in  horse-flesh.  As  my  application 
was  backed  by  the  recommendation  of  Mr.  Bulkley, 
and  supported  on  the  ground  of  my  valuable  health, 
Mr.  Moulton  interposed  no  more  opposition  than  was 
essential  to  vindicate  his  authority  in  a  matter  of  this 
moment.  And  his  letter  containing  his  assent  in 
cluded,  also,  a  proposition  by  no  means  repugnant  to 
my  own  ideas  of  the  fitness  of  things.  He  suggested, 
as  this  was  a  purchase  of  some  importance,  and  which 
it  was  as  well  should  be  entirely  to  my  own  mind,  that 
I  should  come  down  to  Boston  for  a  week,  and  assist 
at  the  researches  preliminary  to  its  final  adjustment. 
To  this  suggestion  Mr.  Bulkley  was  pleased  to  lend  a 
friendly  ear;  and  with  his  full  consent  I  intercepted 
the  Haverford  coach  the  next  morning  (having,  I  trust 
it  is  needless  to  say,  walked  over  to  Woodside,  where 
the  transaction  excited  the  interest  its  importance 
deserved,  to  give  notice  of  my  intended  absence), 
which,  in  due  time,  deposited  me  at  Mr.  Moulton's 
door  in  Autumn  Street. 

This  gentleman  was  no  ill  specimen  of  his  class, 
with  specific  idiosyncrasies  of  his  own.  He  was  de 
scended  of  an  old  New  England  family,  which,  how 
ever,  had  gone  to  decay  for  one  or  two  generations. 
He  found  himself,  on  attaining  to  man's,  or  rather 
youth's,  estate,  in  a  remote  country-town,  with  no 
advantages  of  education  but  such  as  the  town-school 
had  afforded  him ;  with  no  capital  but  what  he  carried 


IN   WHICH   ANOTHER   CHARACTER   APPEARS.         125 

in  his  head,  and  what  he  had  invested  in  an  excellent 
character.  After  various  struggles  to  rise  above  his 
hereditary  position  in  the  country,  he  changed  the 
scene  of  action  for  the  city  (or  rather  the  metropolis, 
for  Boston  was  a  town  only,  for  years  after  that), 
where  he  buffeted  and  battled  with  fortune,  with 
alternations  of  failure  and  success  (which,  well  told, 
would  be  a  curious  picture  of  life),  until  he  at  length 
achieved  a  place  among  the  foremost  merchants  of 
the  nation.  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  he  was  a 
man  of  eminent  ability ;  for  such  is  almost  necessarily 
implied  in  great  success  of  any  kind.  The  talent 
that  could  build  up  a  great  fortune  from  nothing  by 
commerce,  if  it  had  received  another  direction,  would, 
in  all  likelihood,  have  achieved  eminence  on  the  bench, 
or  in  the  Senate,  or,  perhaps,  even  in  literature. 

Mr.  Moulton  might,  possibly,  sometimes  be  caught 
tripping  in  his  speech,  and  his  verbs  and  nominative 
cases  might  not  always  bear  that  precise  relation  to 
each  other  that  the  more  bigoted  disciples  of  Priscian 
choose  to  exact ;  but  the  substance  of  what  he  said 
was  good  sense,  according  to  the  sense  of  his  times, 
and  most  unequivocally  to  the  point.  He  was  not 
without  his  provincialisms  and  his  prejudices.  He 
verily  believed  that,  as  Massachusetts  politics  went,  so 
would  go  the  country,  and,  as  the  country,  the  world. 
He  really  thought  that  all  the  hope  of  liberal  princi 
ples  throughout  Christendom  depended  on  the  frag 
ment  of  the  New  England  mind  that  had  accepted  for 
truth  the  Unitarian  idea.  He  was  benevolent  and 


126  WENSLEY. 

open-handed  to  the  poor,  and  would  found  charities, 
and  endow  professorships ;  but  he  would  take  the 
bread  out  of  the  mouth  of  every  Democratic  lawyer, 
minister,  doctor,  or  artisan,  if  he  could,  and  count  it  to 
himself  for  righteousness.  He  gloried  in  his  liberality 
of  opinion ;  but  he  hated  and  despised  a  Calvinist  in 
about  equal  proportions,  and  was  firmly  of  the  faith 
that  no  good  thing  could  come  out  of  that  Nazareth. 
His  multifarious  affairs,  and  complicated  commercial 
connections,  made  him  intellectually  aware  of  the  fact 
that  a  considerable  portion  of  the  civilized  world  lay 
beyond  the  purlieus  of  State  Street.  And  probably 
arithmetic  would  have  convinced  him,  had  he  applied 
it  to  the  subject,  that  a  good  deal  of  the  mind  of 
Christendom  lay  beyond  the  domain  of  the  Unitarian 
denomination ;  but  practically,  as  far  as  his  walk  and 
conversation  were  concerned,^  the  one  constituted  the 
true  State,  and  the  other  the  true  Church  Universal. 
But,  where  his  prejudices  did  not  interpose  between 
his  natural  goodness  of  heart  and  any  person  or  class 
that  he  could  benefit,  he  was  liberal,  even  generous,  of 
his  money,  his  time,  and  his  influence  with  others. 

I  am  sure  that  I  have  good  reason  to  speak  well  of 
him  ;  for  he  took  excellent  care  of  my  estate,  and  let 
me  do  very  much  as  I  liked.  And  yet  he  was  not 
negligent  of  me,  either.  He  had  a  cordial  detestation 
of  vice  in  all  its  shapes,  and,  without  preaching,  made 
me  feel  that  he  looked  upon  me  as  incapable  of  auy- 
thiug  so  low  and  ungentlemanlike.  This  confidence 
was,  no  doubt,  as  well  judged  as  it  was  well  inten- 


IN  WHICH   ANOTHER   CHARACTER   APPEARS.          127 

tioned,  and,  I  trust,  was  not  misplaced  or  unrewarded. 
But  perhaps  the  kindest  and  wisest  thing  he  did  for 
me  was  his  introducing  me  to  the  excellent  society 
which  at  that  time,  as  much  as  any  other  before  or 
since,  distinguished  Boston.  To  be  sure,  my  connec 
tions  with  the  prominent  members  of  that  society 
entitled  me  to  be  free  of  it ;  but  it  was  to  the  kind 
encouragement  and  good  offices  of  my  guardian  that 
I  owed  an  earlier  initiation  than  my  years  demanded. 
His  own  children  were  grown  up  and  married  off, 
excepting  one  bachelor  son  at  home;  so  that  he 
seemed  to  feel,  and  certainly  expressed  in  his  con 
duct,  the  sort  of  partial  yet  discreet  indulgence  a 
sensible  man  often  shows  to  his  youngest  child.  All 
this,  however,  is  not  particularly  to  the  purpose  of  my 
narrative,  of  which  I  am  by  no  means  the  hero ;  and 
I  do  not  know  why  I  should  suppose  that  the  public 
will  care  about  my  own  private  concerns.  But  the 
image  of  this  worthy  gentleman  rising  up  before  me 
as  I  looked  back  at  that  particular  portion  of  my  life, 
I  felt  impelled  to  jot  down  the  slight  pen-and-ink 
sketch  you  see  above.  And,  as  I  hate  rewriting  any 
thing,  we  will  let  it  stand. 

"  I  am  glad  you  came  to-day,  Frank,"  said  Mr- 
Moulton,  after  the  first  cordial  greetings  were  passed; 
"  for  I  expect  a  youngster  to  dine  with  me  not  long 
from  college." 

"  Indeed,  sir  ! "  I  replied.     "  And  who  may  he  be  ? " 

"  Oh !  none  of  your  acquaintances,"  he  answered ; 

"none  of  your  Yankee  collegians,  let  me  tell  you. 


128  WENSLEY. 

He  is  from  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  one  or  both ;  and 
I  want  you  to  be  civil  to  him." 

"An  Englishman,  then,  I  take  it  for  granted," 
said  I. 

"  Why,  yes  —  he  is,  after  a  fashion,"  Mr.  Moulton 
replied.  "  That  is,  he  was  born  in  England  ;  but  his 
father  was  a  refugee  Tory,  —  James  Markham,  —  who 
raised  and  commanded  a  company  of  riflemen  during 
the  Eevolution." 

"  And  what  is  his  business  here,  sir  ? "  I  inquired. 

"  His  business  is  his  pleasure,  I  guess,"  returned 
Mr.  Moulton.  "  The  Bellinghams  and  Mildmays  are 
a  sort  of  cousins  of  his,  and  he  has  been  renewing 
the  connection.  Anne  Shippen  [one  of  his  married 
daughters]  thinks  that  he  is  sweet  upon  Esther 
Mildmay." 

"  Indeed ! "  I  rejoined.  "  And  has  he  been  long 
enough  here  for  that?  I  never  heard  of  him  be 
fore." 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  he  answered,  "  how  long,  think 
ye,  does  it  take  a  young  fellow  to  get  up  a  flirtation  ? 
and  how  long  do  you  suppose  it  takes  for  the  report 
of  it  to  get  wind  ? "  looking  at  me  with  a  quizzical 
kind  of  significance,  which  made  me  feel  as  if  a  sud 
den  growth  of  nettles  were  springing  under  favorable 
circumstances  from  the  entire  surface  of  my  body. 
"  And  as  to  your  not  having  heard  of  him  before,  why, 
if  a  young  gentleman's  health  requires  his  going  into 
the  country,  he  mustn't  expect  to  be  posted  up  to  the 
very  last  minute.  However,  he  has  been  here  about 


IN  WHICH  ANOTHER   CHARACTER  APPEARS.         129 

a  fortnight.     But  much  may  be  done  in  a  fortnight, 
Master  Frank,  I  would  have  you  know." 

I  could  not  reasonably  have  denied  this  proposi 
tion  if  I  had  felt  disposed  to  be  argumentative, 
which  I  did  not.  I  was  wondering  whether  any 
rumor  of  my  frequent  visits  at  Woodside  had  reached 
my  guardian's  ears  ;  and,  if  so,  whether  he  had  drawn 
any  inferences  from  them  to  the  effect  that  I  was  in 
love  with  the  charming  Eleanor.  Like  most  shy 
people,  I  was  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  scorned  the 
idea  of  being  supposed  sighing  at  any  lady's  feet, 
seriously,  until  it  was  known  that  she  had  consented 
to  extend  her  royal  hand  to  place  me  by  her  side. 
Of  course  I  was  never  without  some  princess  or 
other,  whom  I  served  most  faithfully  till  she  was 
dethroned  by  some  fresher  usurper ;  but  nobody  ever 
regarded  these  transitory  submissions  as  even  looking 
towards  a  permanent  allegiance.  So  I  was  resolved 
to  take  up  my  very  last  flirtation  just  where  I  had 
left  it  off  two  months  before,  and  to  prosecute  it 
with  redoubled  zeal  by  way  of  blinding  my  Argus. 
Whether  or  not  it  was  the  most  effectual  way,  ex 
perts  in  the  art  of  love  must  decide  according  to 
their  own  experience.  But  I  must  defer  these  pas 
sages  of  mine  with  Matilda  Eobinson  until  I  have 
more  space  than  I  have  to  spare  here.  I  have  in 
contemplation  the  preparation  of  a  work  to  be  enti 
tled  "  The  Philosophy  of  Flirtation ;  its  Origin,  Uses, 
and  Tendencies :  with  Illustrations  from  the  Life." 
Should  this  plan  be  carried  into  effect,  the  reader 
9 


130  WENSLEY. 

will  there  find  everything  made  clear  which  the  stern 
necessities  of  this  particular  case  compel  me  to  leave 
under  a  cloud. 

Dinner-time  came,  and  brought  Harry  Markham 
with  it.  He  was  three  or  four  years  older  than  I, 
and  therefore  I  was  the  more  disposed  to  like  him 
when  he  showed  an  inclination  to  be  friends  with  me. 
He  had  taken  his  bachelor's  degree  at  Oxford  a  year 
or  two  before  with  good  reputation,  and  was  there 
fore  a  personage  of  great  dignity  and  high  interest 
in  my  sight.  I  was  never  tired  of  cross-examining 
him  as  to  the  details  of  university  life  and  discipline 
in  England ;  and  he  had  not  been  so  long  delivered 
from  them  as  not  to  like  to  recount  them.  During 
the  fortnight  of  my  stay  in  town  (for  my  week  grew 
by  degrees  to  that  size),  we  were  constant  compan 
ions.  By  day  we  scoured  the  country  round  in 
search  of  points  of  view  (for  he  was  an  excellent 
draughtsman)  and  of  historical  interest.  In  the 
evenings  we  resorted  to  the  pleasant  societies  still  to 
be  found  even  in  many  town  houses,  although  it  was 
early  in  August,  —  for  the  dispersion  of  the  summer 
was  not  then  as  universal  as  it  has  since  become,  — 
or  else  we  drew  rein  at  some  of  the  villas  within  ten 
miles  of  the  city,  where  we  were  sure  of  a  hospitable 
entertainment.  Pleasant,  cheerful,  happy  hours  they 
were.  And  why  not  ?  It  were  hard,  indeed,  if  the 
hours  between  nineteen  and  three  and  twenty  were 
not  pleasant,  cheerful,  and  happy,  —  and  those,  too, 
the  hours  of  a  fine  August  flitting  over  the  face  of  a 


IN  WHICH  ANOTHER   CHARACTER   APPEARS.         131 

lovely  country,  fit  residence  of  as  lovely  inhabitants  ; 
at  least,  some  of  them. 

I  have  forgotten  to  mention,  what  was  not  unim 
portant  to  the  prosecution  of  these  adventures,  that  I 
had  succeeded  admirably  in  accomplishing  the  object 
of  my  visit  to  Boston.  I  had  mounted  myself  to  my 
entire  satisfaction,  and  in  this  had  derived  material 
assistance  from  the  skill  of  my  new  friend  in  horse 
flesh.  He  had  not  wasted  the  whole  of  his  time  at 
the  university  over  Latin  and  Greek.  He  had  im 
proved  a  portion  of  his  hours  in  more  practical 
pursuits,  among  which  might  be  reckoned  the  occa 
sional  pursuit  of  foxes  and  hares  ;  and  one  result  of 
these  studies  was  a  more  than  common  knowledge 
of  the  noblest  of  the  servants  of  man.  Having  thus 
secured  what  I  had  come  down  for,  soon  after  my 
arrival,  I  thought  it  advisable  to  give  my  new  pur 
chase  a  full  and  fair  trial  before  taking  him  to  the 
distant  solitudes  of  Wensley :  hence  these  rides  of 
which  I  have  spoken,  and  hence  the  agreeable  epi 
sodes  I  have  hinted  at  in  the  course  of  the  last  para 
graph.  So  Whitefoot — for  such  was  the  Homeric 
designation  we  bestowed  upon  him,  from  the  color  of 
his  off  forefoot  — Whitefoot  and  I  formed  the  friend 
ship  which  lasted  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  under  these 
pleasant  circumstances  and  in  this  good  company. 
To  be  sure,  it  took  some  time  to  satisfy  all  my  scru 
ples  as  to  his  sufficiency ;  and  we  had  to  make  a  good 
many  afternoon  and  evening  excursions,  not  always 
unaccompanied  by  side-saddles  and  riding-habits, 


132  WENSLEY. 

before  he  had  vindicated  to  himself  his  claim  to  my 
entire  confidence.  But  it  was  erring,  if  erring  it 
were,  on  the  side  of  prudence  and  discretion,  —  virtues 
which  were  early  developed  in  my  character,  and 
which  I  still  regard  as  its  chiefest  jewels. 

I  do  not  know  what  inference  my  readers  may  draw 
from  this  voluntary  prolongation  of  my  leave  of  ab 
sence.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have  told  of  it.  It  may 
not  be  creditable  to  me,  that  I  was  willing  to  exchange 
the  society  of  Miss  Allerton  for  that  of  any  number 
of  other  beauties.  I  certainly  saw  none  other  so  hand 
some  ;  but  then,  you  know,  safety  may  lie  in  other 
multitudes  than  those  of  counsellors.  In  fact,  al 
though  I  do  hate  inconstancy  as  much  as  my  Lord 
Byron  did,  and,  like  him,  "  loathe,  detest,  the  mortal 
made  of  such  quicksilver  clay  that  on  his  breast  no 
permanent  impression  can  be  made  "  (I  do  not  remem 
ber  the  quotation  accurately  enough  to  reduce  it  to 
verses),  still  even  the  most  constant  swain  will  occa 
sionally  make  an  excursion  to  gaze  on  other  shepherd 
esses  than  his  own,  if  it  were  only  to  glory  in  her 
supremacy  over  all  others. 

And  perhaps  I  may  have  had  a  lurking  idea  that 
my  cousin  Eleanor  might  value  her  newly-found 
relative  none  the  less  for  a  brief  interval  of  absence. 
All  this  on  the  supposition  that  she  was  more  to  me 
than  any  other  pretty  woman,  which,  you  are  aware, 
I  have  not  yet  admitted.  But  story-readers,  as  well 
as  story-tellers,  are  a  gossiping  generation,  and  can 
seldom  see  a  young  man  and  woman  in  company  to- 


IN   WHICH   ANOTHER   CHARACTER   APPEARS.         133 

gether,  without  putting  constructions  on  what  they  say 
and  do,  which  perhaps  it  had  never  entered  into  their 
hearts  to  conceive.  But  as  my  course  is  a  perfectly 
straightforward  one,  with  no  traps  and  pitfalls  set  to 
catch  the  interest  of  the  reader,  it  is  my  duty  to  remove 
out  of  the  way  all  objections  that  arise  as  they  come 
along. 

But  still,  as  my  fortnight's  fast  was  drawing  to  an 
end,  I  began  to  feel  a  good  wholesome  appetite  for 
Wensley  again.  Not  only  did  I  feel  the  wish  grow 
ing  strong  within  me  to  renew  my  cousinly  relations 
with  Woodside,  but  I  longed  to  see  the  good  Parson 
once  more,  and  the  worthy  Jasper,  whose  sable  image 
formed,  as  it  were,  the  shadow  of  that  of  his  master. 
In  my  talks  with  Markharn,  I  told  him  all  that  I  have 
told  you  about  these  characters  in  my  rural  drama,  and 
he  expressed  a  strong  wish  to  be  brought  face  to  face 
with  them.  Of  course  I  was  not  slow  in  asking  him 
to  come  and  pay  me  a  visit.  Major  Grimes's  doors, 
both  of  his  house  and  his  stable,  ever  stood  open  for 
the  welcome  of  man  and  beast,  and  I  could  warrant 
him  a  friendly  reception  from  all  the  rest.  He 
thanked  me,  and  promised  to  come  at  some  conven 
ient  season  before  he  left  New  England  on  his  tour 
through  the  country. 

I  was  a  little  surprised  at  his  not  being  more  in 
a  hurry,  when  I  made  an  accidental  discovery  in  the 
course  of  one  of  our  rides.  We  were  discussing  the 
comparative  claims  of  two  rival  beauties,  both  of  whom 
we  had  visited  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon.  I  do 


134  WENSLEY. 

not  remember  how  it  came  about;  but  I  illustrated 
some  criticism  of  mine  by  a  reference  to  Miss  Aller- 
ton,  whose  superiority  over  both  the  ladies  in  question 
I  maintained.  I  averred,  that,  beautiful  as  they  both 
were,  they  had  nothing  so  striking  as  the  effect  of 
Miss  Allerton's  upward  glance,  from  the  contrast 
between  her  dark  flashing  eyes  and  her  "  fairly  fair  " 
complexion  and  golden  hair. 

"  It  is  perfectly  unique,"  I  said,  "  as  far  as  my  ob 
servation  goes.  I  have  seen  nothing  like  it." 

"Not  so  remarkably  so,"  he  replied  quickly,  "as 
her  downward  look.  Her  eyelashes  are  perfectly 
preternatural." 

"  What ! "  I  exclaimed.  "Then  you  have  seen  her  ? 
I  had  not  an  idea  of  that ! " 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  answered,  a  good  deal  disconcerted, 
for  he  had  evidently  committed  himself,  very  much 
to  his  own  vexation,  —  "  why,  yes.  Have  I  never 
mentioned  it  to  you  before  ? " 

"  Mentioned  it ! "  I  responded.  "  To  be  sure  you 
have  not !  But  where  did  you  meet  her  ?  and  what 
do  you  think  of  her  ?  and  why  have  you  not  been  up 
to  see  her  ?  " 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  he  replied,  still  somewhat  con 
fused,  "I  hardly  feel  myself  sufficiently  well  ac 
quainted  with  her  to  visit  her  at  this  distance  of  time 
and  place.  I  met  her  once  or  twice  in  Devonshire, 
when  reading  there  during  the  long  vacation,  about 
three  years  ago.  It  was  not  long  before  they  came  to 
America,  I  believe." 


IN  WHICH   ANOTHER   CHARACTER   APPEARS.         135 

"But  did  you  not  think  her  splendidly  handsome  ? " 
I  inquired.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  have 
many  such  women  in  England,  do  you  ?  Was  not  she 
as  uncommon  there  as  here  ? " 

"  She  was  very  handsome,  certainly,"  said  he  with 
more  coolness  than  suited  my  own  ideas.  "But  her 
style  is  not  so  rare  in  England  as  it  is  here.  Yes," 
he  continued,  with  an  air  of  deliberation,  "  I  think 
I  may  say  that  I  have  seen  as  handsome  women  as 
she." 

I  did  not  believe  him,  and  put  down  his  affirma 
tion  to  the  credit  of  his  John  Bullism,  which  would 
not  suffer  him  to  admit  that  anything  could  be  better 
in  this  country  than  he  had  left  at  home. 

Having  talked  over  the  daughter  a  little  more,  I 
tried  to  get  him  upon  the  father,  and  endeavored  to 
extract  from  him  some  further  particulars  of  his  his 
tory  than  I  had  been  able  to  gather  from  Mr.  Bulkley. 
But,  if  he  knew  anything  about  him,  he  kept  his  own 
counsel ;  for  I  got  nothing  by  my  cross-examination. 
He  lived  like  a  gentleman,  he  said,  with  nothing 
observable  or  distinguishing  about  him.  He  had 
himself  been  brought  into  contact  with  him  from  the 
circumstance  of  his  being  employed  by  the  British 
Government  in  the  dispensation  of  the  bounties  of  the 
Crown  to  the  families  of  the  loyalists.  He  was  the 
accredited  agent  through  whom  the  funds  of  many  of 
those  that  had  suffered  in  the  Eevolution  reached  the 
beneficiaries,  especially  those  of  them  who  had  re 
turned  to  America,  or  settled  in  the  Provinces.  He 


136  WENSLEY. 

possessed  the  confidence  of  the  ministers,  and  was 
eminently  fitted  for  this  business  by  his  personal 
knowledge  of  almost  all  those  unfortunate  exiles, 
reaching  back,  in  many  cases,  to  the  very  time  of  the 
emigration.  Markham's  own  father  having  belonged 
to  this  same  category,  he  had  had  some  intercourse 
with  him  at  the  agency  in  London  on  his  part,  and 
in  consequence  of  this  had  received  friendly  atten 
tions  from  him  when  he  came  into  the  neighborhood 
of  Watford  Hall  on  the  occasion  above  recited.  All 
this  was  natural  enough,  and  I  could  not  gainsay  a 
word  of  it.  Indeed,  I  believed  it  was  all  literally 
true ;  but  I  was  by  no  means  so  sure  that  it  was  quite 
the  whole  truth.  Markham,  too,  seemed  to  be  enter 
ing  into  the  conspiracy  to  mystify  me  about  these 
people,  whose  affairs  were  certainly  no  business  of 
mine.  But,  then,  if  people  attended  only  to  their  own 
affairs,  a  stupid  world  we  should  have  of  it. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  share  he  had  in  my  mystifi 
cation.  Not  long  afterwards  we  were  just  returning 
from  a  ride,  and  were  proceeding  towards  the  livery 
stable  which  was  connected  with  the  Exchange  Coffee 
House,  —  at  that  time  the  chief  hostelry  that  Boston 
boasted,  —  just  as  the  New  York  stage-coach  drove 
up  to  the  door  of  the  hotel.  Everybody  who  visited 
Boston  at  that  time  will  remember  that  the  passage 
way  in  front  of  that  house  of  entertainment  was  very 
disproportionately  small  when  compared  with  its  size 
and  pretensions  ;  so  much  so,  that  we  were  interrupt 
ed  in  our  career  by  the  sweeping  round  of  the  four 


IN  WHICH   ANOTHER   CHARACTER   APPEARS.         137 

horses,  and  had  to  pull  up  for  a  moment.  But  that 
moment  was  sufficient;  for  just  before  my  eyes,  sitting 
on  the  coach-box,  was  the  identical  interloper  whom 
I  had  last  seen  emerging  like  a  water  god  from  the 
waves  of  the  Quasheen.  There  could  not  be  a  doubt 
of  it.  Though  I  had  seen  him  but  for  a  moment,  the 
circumstances  of  that  sight  sufficed  to  stereotype  his 
looks  upon  my  memory  forever.  I  should  have  known 
him  if  I  had  met  him  on  the  top  of  Mount  Hecla.  He 
looked  at  me  from  under  his  shaggy  eyebrows  (which, 
however,  did  not  hinder  his  being  a  very  well-looking 
fellow)  as  if  he  had  seen  me  somewhere  before.  But 
I  do  not  think  he  recognized  me,  as  he  probably  took 
much  less  notice  of  me  than  I  did  of  him. 

His  scrutiny  of  my  countenance,  however,  was  over, 
the  moment  his  eyes  glanced  at  my  companion.  He 
evidently  enough  recognized  him,  and  derived  no 
particular  satisfaction  from  the  recognition.  He  was 
very  clearly  a  man  not  to  be  easily  taken  aback,  and 
one  that  had  a  tolerable  command  of  his  countenance; 
but  he  could  not  control  the  expression  of  surprise 
and  displeasure  that  was  extorted  from  him  by  the 
suddenness  of  the  encounter.  Markham's  face  showed 
less  equivocal  marks  of  dislike,  if  not  of  surprise,  as 
became  his  younger  years  and  less  disciplined  facial 
muscles.  He  muttered  an  indistinct  comment  on  the 
occasion,  which  did  not  reach  farther  than  my  ears  ; 
which  being  the  case,  and  as  it  involved  an  adjective 
or  two  which  might  justly  grieve  godly  ears,  I  shall 
forbear  to  put  it  upon  permanent  record.  He  on  the 


138  WENSLEY. 

coach-box  made  a  kind  of  a  motion,  of  the  nature  of  a 
salutation,  in  the  direction  of  the  brim  of  his  hat, 
which  Markham  acknowledged  by  the  faintest  per 
ceptible  swaying  of  his  head,  and  then,  turning  away, 
rode  on  through  the  arch  that  led  to  the  stables. 

"  That  gentleman  does  n't  seem  to  be  fond  of  you, 
Markham,"  said  I  as  naturally  as  I  could.  "  Who  may 
he  be?" 

"  Oh,  he 's  a  countryman  of  mine,"  he  replied ; 
"  that  is,  he  is  my  countryman  and  yours  too.  He  's 
a  half  Yankee,  as  well  as  myself.  We  are  not  over 
fond  of  one  another,  as  you  suspect." 

"And  his  name  is  Smith,  is  it  not?"  I  put  inter 
rogatively. 

"  Smith  ! "  he  answered.  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
that  ?  Do  you  suppose  every  Englishman  is  named 
Smith?" 

"  Why,  it  is  a  tolerably  generic  name,"  I  answered. 
"  But  I  had  a  more  specific  reason  for  supposing  it  to 
belong  to  him,  for  I  have  been  told  so  by  a  landlord 
of  his." 

"  For  God's  sake,  what  do  you  mean,  Osborne  ? " 
he  demanded  in  strong  surprise.  "  Where  have  you 
ever  seen  him  ?  He  surely  does  n't  pass  here  by  that 
name ! " 

I  then  stated  that  I  had  met  this  personage,  who 
ever  he  might  be,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Wensley, 
when  fishing,  not  long  before,  and  that  I  had  acci 
dentally  learned,  from  the  landlord  where  he  lodged, 
that  he  rejoiced  in  the  general  appellation  I  had  ap- 


IN   WHICH  ANOTHER   CHARACTER   APPEARS.         139 

plied  to  him.  Of  course  I  made  no  mention  of  my 
cousin  Eleanor's  name  in  the  business,  and  seemed  to 
know  no  more  of  him  than  I  have  just  related.  Why 
should  n't  I  have  my  little  mystery  too  ?  And  I 
rather  imagined  that  he  would  have  given  all  I 
wanted  to  know  in  exchange  for  what  I  had  to  tell. 
But  my  lips  were  sealed,  of  course,  as  to  all  that  had 
passed  between  them  in  my  presence.  And  Markham 
had  to  spell  out  the  mystery,  as  well  as  he  could, 
without  my  assistance. 

"  This  is  very  strange  I "  said  Markham,  half  to 
himself.  "What  could  he  have  been  lurking  about 
there  for,  under  a  nom  de  guerre  1 "  And  then,  ad 
dressing  himself  to  me,  he  went  on,  "  The  man's 
name  is  Ferguson ;  and  I  am  almost  as  much  at  a  loss 
as  you  to  account  for  his  changing  it  without  royal 
license.  But  Englishmen  have  a  charter  to  be  odd, 
and  possibly  this  is  the  form  which  Mr.  Ferguson's 
oddity  takes  unto  itself.  At  any  rate,"  he  went  on, 
as  if  talking  to  himself  again,  "  we  will  hope  there 
are  not  many  Englishmen  like  him.  He 's  a  black 
sheep." 

He  then  changed  the  conversation;  and,  it  being 
plain  he  wished  to  avoid  the  subject,  I  could  get  no 
more  satisfaction  from  him  about  it.  And,  as  this 
was  the  last  time  we  were  to  be  together  previous  to 
my  return  to  Wensley,  I  had  no  further  opportunity 
of  recurring  to  it.  At  parting,  however,  he  promised 
me,  of  his  own  accord,  that  he  would  certainly  beat  up 


140  WENSLEY. 

my  quarters  before  very  long ;  until  which  time  I 
was  perforce  compelled  to  adjourn  my  curiosity.  We 
parted  that  night ;  and  the  next  day  Whitefoot  car 
ried  me  safely  to  Parson  Bulkley's  door,  at  which 
we  were  both  of  us  joyfully  received  both  by  master 
and  man. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

WHICH  IS  EPISODICAL,   BUT  PROGRESSIVE. 

~"*HE  attentive  reader  will  not,  perhaps,  be  sur- 
-*-  prised  to  hear  that  the  very  first  event  in  the 
"Wensley  life  of  Whitefoot  was  a  visit  to  Woodside, 
which  occurred  on  the  afternoon  of  the  very  day  suc 
ceeding  that  of  his  arrival.  He  was  fortunate  enough 
to  meet  with  the  approbation  of  my  cousin  Eleanor, 
and  also,  which  was  perhaps  a  more  important  testi 
mony  to  his  character,  with  that  of  my  much  respected 
and  more  experienced  cousin,  the  Colonel.  That  gal 
lant  officer  made  a  close  and  scientific  inspection  of 
his  various  points  with  the  eye  at  once  of  an  amateur 
and  of  a  connoisseur,  and  was  pleased  to  pronounce 
him  very  well  indeed  for  a  horse  bred  and  broken  in 
America.  This,  I  was  well  aware,  was  as  high  praise 
as  an  Englishman  (for  such  Colonel  Allerton  persist 
ed  in  considering  himself,  notwithstanding  his  New 
England  birth  and  parentage)  could  be  expected  to 
bestow  on  Bucephalus,  or  Pegasus  himself,  were  one 
or  both  of  those  celebrated  animals  trotted  out  for  his 
opinion.  So  I  accepted  it  as  the  seal  of  my  bargain, 
and  felt  entitled  to  brag  according  to  knowledge  of 
his  merits  whenever  Major  Grimes  and  his  party  saw 
fit  to  disparage  him  as  an  interloping  rival  of  Turk. 


142  WENSLEY. 

This  interested  opposition,  however,  was  confined  ex 
clusively  to  the  Grimes  faction  (a  pretty  large  one,  by 
the  way) ;  for  the  Wensleyaus  in  general,  outside  of 
the  charmed  circle  described  by  the  Major's  toddy 
stick,  were  unanimous  in  giving  Whitefoot  the  pre 
eminence  over  his  Moslem  competitor. 

And  the  feeling  of  triumph  was  very  universal; 
for  I  flatter  myself  I  had  become  by  this  time  rather 
a  favorite  in  the  town,  though  neither  my  modesty 
nor  the  necessities  of  my  story  will  allow  of  my  re 
counting  the  whereby  and  wherefore.  I  say  it  caused 
a  widespread  feeling  of  satisfaction  when  the  last 
convincing  proof  of  his  excellence  was  given  by  Major- 
General  Boardman,  an  eminent  house-carpenter 
(builder  he  would  be  called  in  these  euphuistic  days) 
of  Haverford,  the  capital  town  of  the  county,  who 
did  "Whitefoot  the  honor  to  borrow  him  for  the  fall 
muster,  selecting  hirn  out  of  all  the  steeds  of  the  shire 
as  the  most  worthy  to  bound  beneath  his  weight 
(which  was  considerable)  along  the  arms -presenting 
line,  and  to  share  with  him  the  dangers  and  glories  of 
that  important  field  day.  To  be  sure,  Major  Grimes 
was  heard  to  suggest  to  some  of  his  faction,  that  "  it 
was  n't  likely  Mr.  Frank  Osborne  was  going  to  take 
any  hire  for  his  beast ; "  which,  indeed,  it  was  not ; 
nor  yet,  I  should  hope,  that  an  officer  of  such  distinc 
tion  should  have  been  influenced  by  so  sordid  a 
consideration. 

It  was  also  unfortunately  true  that  the  gallant  Gen 
eral  gave  occasion  for  disrespectful  language  on  the 


WHICH   IS   EPISODICAL,    BUT   PROGRESSIVE.        143 

part  of  his  subordinate  officer,  by  returning  his  bor 
rowed  charger  with  a  piece  of  the  skin  (technically 
called  the  bark)  taken  off  his  near  hind-leg,  occa 
sioned  by  backing  him  against  the  wheel  of  a  gun- 
carriage.  This  gave  the  enemy  great  cause  for 
triumph  ;  and  I  was  not  over  well  pleased  with  the 
circumstance  myself.  As  for  Colonel  Allerton,  who 
had  the  natural  antipathy  of  a  regular  for  a  citizen 
soldier,  when  I  told  him  of  the  mishap,  he  was 
louder  and  deeper  in  the  expression  of  his  sense  of 
the  General's  stupidity  than  even  I  had  been.  In 
deed,  he  spoke  of  it  in  terms,  which,  as  they  might 
be  neither  acceptable  nor  edifying  to  the  serious 
reader,  I  shall  considerately  pretermit.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  they  were  of  a  nature,  which,  had  the  Colo 
nel  been  under  the  General's  command,  would  have 
justly  subjected  him  to  be  court-martialled  for  "  un 
becoming  and  disrespectful  language  towards  his 
superior  officer."  I,  however,  regarding  the  accident 
as  the  fortune  of  war,  to  which  I  was  myself  in  some 
good  measure  accessory  by  consenting  to  expose  my 
white-footed  friend  to  its  casualties,  possessed  my  soul 
in  such  patience  as  I  could  muster,  inly  resolving  that 
he  should  be  exempt  from  military  duty  from  that 
time  forward. 

I  have  thrown  these  particulars  together  in  this 
place,  although  thereby  I  run  before  the  regular 
course  of  my  history,  to  which  I  am  in  general  care 
ful  scrupulously  to  confine  myself,  in  order  that  the 
reader  might  take  in  at  a  glance  all  the  bearings  of 


144  WEXSLEY. 

this  important  affair,  and  also  that  it  may  be  cleared 
out  of  the  way,  so  as  not  to  interfere  with  those 
scenes  of  intense  interest,  which,  like  the  rain  in  the 
almanac,  may  be  looked  for  about  this  time.  We  will 
now  return  to  the  afternoon  when  I  first  submitted 
my  horse  to  the  cousinly  inspection  above  mentioned. 
The  examination  over,  and  Whitefoot  consigned  to 
the  care  of  Mr.  Jonathan  Snell  (who  was  also  pleased 
to  vouchsafe  his  gracious  approval  of  the  same),  the 
Colonel  retired  to  his  own  room,  the  same  described 
in  my  third  chapter  as  enjoying  the  brevet  rank  of 
the  library;  and  my  cousin  Eleanor  and  I  strolled  out 
to  enjoy  the  exquisite  summer  afternoon  just  melting 
into  evening. 

We  took  our  way  towards  the  avenue  of  elms 
which  I  have  already  said  descended  the  other  side 
of  the  little  hill  on  which  the  house  stood.  It  was 
as  sweet  a  walk  as  a  pair  of  lovers  (had  we  only 
happened  to  have  been  such)  could  have  desired. 
The  avenue  led  nowhere,  to  be  sure,  excepting  to  a 
rough  field,  not  long  cleared,  which  was  skirted  by 
the  old  wood  which  gave  its  name  to  the  place ;  but 
the  turf  was  elastic  and  velvety,  from  being  kept 
closely  mown  and  well  rolled,  in  the  English  fashion ; 
and  the  branches,  thick  with  leaves,  and  alive  with 
birds,  stretched  themselves  long  and  wide  until  they 
clasped  each  other  over  our  head.  And  after  de 
scending  the  first  sharp  though  short  descent,  as 
sisted  by  steps  cut  in  the  turf,  you  were  hid  by  a 
screen  of  shrubbery  from  the  house,  and  might  have 


WHICH   IS  EPISODICAL,   BUT   PROGRESSIVE.       145 

imagined  yourself  in  Arden  or  the  Black  Forest,  for 
any  signs  of  human  neighborhood  that  forced  them 
selves  on  your  notice. 

As  we  paced  up  and  down  this  "dry,  smooth- 
shaven  green,"  my  lovely  cousin  magnetizing  me 
with  the  gentle  weight  of  her  hand  on  my  arm,  we 
launched  at  once  into  the  animated  discourse  of 
friends  to  the  current  of  whose  talk  the  interposition 
of  a  short  absence  has  given  at  once  a  greater  fulness 
and  a  swifter  flow.  She  gave  me  such  bits  of  gossip 
as  the  village  had  afforded  during  the  two  weeks  of 
my  absence,  of  which  Petchell,  her  maid,  who  had 
established  relations  with  certain  of  the  inhabitants, 
was  the  voucher.  Perhaps  it  was  peculiar  to  this 
young  lady,  that  she  did  not  dislike  to  hear  tell  of  the 
loves  and  the  bickerings,  of  the  history  (private  and 
public,  civil  and  ecclesiastical)  of  the  little  neighbor 
hood  at  her  door.  And  why  not  ?  Human  beings 
are  human  still  in  such  an  out-of-the-way  nook  as 
Wensley ;  and  they  are  no  more  in  the  throngs  of 
Hyde  Park  or  the  Boulevards,  of  St  James's  or  the 
Tuileries.  And  one  who  sympathizes  with  the  joys 
and  sorrows  of  men  and  women,  and  not  with  the 
cost  or  fashion  of  their  clothes  or  carriages,  who 
finds  interest  in  their  characters  and  fates  rather 
than  in  their  houses  and  furniture,  will  find  food 
enough  for  sadness  and  for  mirth  in  more  unlikely 
spots  than  the  one  which  my  gentle  heroine  glad 
dened  by  the  genial  influences  of  her  sweet  and 
kindly  presence. 
10 


146  WENSLEY. 

But  I  was,  in  virtue  of  my  absence,  expected  to 
be  the  chief  talker ;  and,  accordingly,  I  retailed 
whatever  store  of  news  I  had  collected  in  Boston, 
for  her  amusement  In  those  days,  the  connection 
of  an  inland  town,  like  Wensley,  with  the  capital 
of  the  State,  was  hardly  so  intimate  as  the  connec 
tion  of  that  city  with  the  capital  of  the  world  is 
now,  so  effectually  has  steam  accomplished  that 
annihilation  of  time  and  space  for  which  the  lovers 
celebrated  in  the  Bathos  prayed.  "The  Columbian 
Centiuel"  afforded  the  only  loophole  through  which 
the  curious  inhabitants  peeped,  twice  a  week,  at  the 
busy  world  ;  and  I  believe  Mr.  Bulkley  and  Colonel 
Allerton  were  the  only  regular  subscribers  its  hearty 
old  editor,  Major  Ben.  Russell,  had  in  the  town. 
The  Colonel,  to  be  sure,  had  the  English  papers ; 
but  they  came  at  long  intervals,  and  with  no  great 
regularity. 

I  told  Miss  Eleanor  all  the  private  history  I  had 
learned,  the  engagements,  the  marriages,  the  deaths, 
the  feuds,  and  the  reconciliations,  which  made  up 
then,  as  they  do  now  and  ever  will,  the  staple  of 
our  communications  about  our  acquaintances  and 
friends.  Having  emptied  my  budget  of  everything 
I  had  to  tell,  excepting  the  things  I  was  thinking 
most  about,  we  sat  down  on  a  rustic  bench  placed 
near  the  head  of  the  avenue,  at  a  point  from  which 
the  sunset  could  be  commanded,  and  remained  for  a 
while  silently  gazing  at  the  gorgeous  clouds,  which 
the  touch  of  celestial  light  had  transformed  from 


WHICH  IS   EPISODICAL,    BUT   PROGRESSIVE.       147 

cold  masses  of  vapor  into  cliffs  and  billows  of  gold 
and  violet,  as  the  eye  of  genius  looks  on  the  com 
monest  things  of  earth,  and  they  glow  as  with  hues 
caught  fresh  from  heaven. 

As  we  sat  watching  these  glorious  apparitions  to 
gether, — Eleanor,  I  am  afraid,. thinking  more  of  them 
than  of  me,  and  I,  I  am  sure,  thinking  more  of  her 
than  of  them,  —  she  said  presently,  rather  to  herself 
than  to  me,  — 

"  It  is  a  strange  thing  that  a  sight  like  this,  which 
happens  every  day,  should  never  look  twice  alike 
either  to  the  eyes  or  to  the  mind.  The  feelings  it 
creates,  or  recalls  to  the  heart,  are  as  varied,  though 
not  always  as  bright,  as  the  hues  it  leaves  on  the 
clouds  there." 

"True,  Cousin  Eleanor,"  Lreplied.  "But  all  sun 
sets  are  not  brilliant  and  bright  like  this.  Some 
suns  go  down  in  clouds  and  storms,  you  know,  and 
darkness  conies  upon  us  with  no  glorious  prologue 
like  that  before  our  eyes." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  she  answered,  "  more  than  of  such 
as  these.  The  analogy  holds  good,  which  poets  and 
moralists  have  discerned,  and  which  no  one  can 
help  feeling,  between  the  closing  scenes  of  life  and 
of  day.  There  are  few  men,  as  well  as  few  suns, 
you  remember, 

'  whom  scenes  like  these  await, 
Who  sink  unclouded  in  the  gulfs  of  fate.'  " 

"  That  is  true  again,"  I  returned ;  "  but  then  it 
is  the  very  clouds  that  seek  to  oppress  the  sinking 


148  WENSLEY. 

sun  that  make  his  ending  so  splendid,  when  he  has 
the  power  to  overcome  them,  and  make  them  contri 
bute  to  his  glory." 

"  And  even  where  clouds  and  darkness  rest  upon 
him  when  he  goes  to  his  rest/'  she  resumed,  "  we 
know  that  he  is  still  the  same  bright  and  blessed 
orb  as  when  he  shone  at  noonday,  and  that  he  will 
be  sure  to  return  a<jain  as  beautiful  and  beneficent 


o 

as  ever." 


"  We  know  that  of  the  sun,"  I  replied ;  "  for  we 
have  the  experience  of  hundreds  of  generations  to 
the  fact.  But  there,  I  imagine,  the  analogy  ends. 
The  dead  never  return  again,  be  their  setting  bright 
or  dark." 

Eleanor  turned  her  eyes  from  the  fading  sunset, 
and  looked  into  mine. .  "  Cousin  Frank,"  said  she, 
"you  have  thought  seriously  for  so  young  a  man" 
(she,  you  will  recollect,  I  judged  to  be  a  matter  of 
a  twelvemonth  or  so  older  than  I,  and,  as  such,  en 
titled  to  talk  wisdom  to  me).  "  I  should  think  that 
your  day  was  bright  enough  to  keep  the  thought  of 
its  ending  out  of  your  mind." 

"  You  forget,  Eleanor,"  I  replied,  dropping  the 
usual  consanguineous  epithet  for  the  first  time, — 
"you  forget,  that,  though  my  day  may  be  young, 
it  has  not  been  without  its  morning  clouds,  neither. 
It  is  not  altogether  a  cheerful  thing,  cousin,  to  have 
neither  father  nor  mother,  nor  brother  nor  sister. 
Mine  have  all  sunk  into  the  gulfs  of  Fate  you  just 
spoke  of,  and  left  me  to  live  out  my  clay  by  myself 


WHICH  IS  EPISODICAL,    BUT   PROGRESSIVE.       149 

as  I  may.  I  was  not  old  enough  then  to  know  or  to 
feel  my  loss  ;  but  I  am  now  to  do  both." 

"  I  had  forgotten,  dear  Cousin  Frank,"  said  Eleanor 
kindly,  in  reply ;  "  I  confess  I  had,  just  then.  But 
I  should  not  have  done  so,  for  I  am  too  nearly  in 
your  condition  myself.  My  father  indeed  lives ;  but 
he  is  my  only  blood  relation.  And  my  estate  is  in 
one  thing  sadder  than  yours,  for  /  do  remember  my 
mother ;  and  the  agony  her  death  caused  is  still  fresh 
in  my  mind.  Perhaps,  however,"  she  said  with  a 
sigh,  as  it  were  to  herself  again, — "perhaps,  how 
ever,  it  saved  her  from  a  yet  deeper  agony,  had 
she" —  And  she  stopped,  as  if  recollecting  herself. 

"  I  do  not  understand  your  allusion,  of  course, 
cousin,"  I  replied.  "  But  I  do  not  accept  your  phi 
losophy.  It  is  no  consolation  to  me  to  think  my 
father  and  mother  are  spared  from  possible  or  certain 
evils.  I  wish  them  to  be  alive,  and  live  out  their 
days,  as  Nature  meant  they  should.  She  never  meant 
that  they  should  leave  me,  a  wailing  infant  in  the 
cradle,  a  burden  to  friends,  or  a  task  to  hirelings. 
It  was  my  part  to  have  laid  their  heads  in  the  grave 
long  years  hence,  after  they  had  reared,  guided, 
and  taught  me  in  my  way  of  life,  which  I  must 
now  enter  upon  alone.  No,  no,  my  cousin  :  life  is 
a  better  thing  than  death,  let  its  circumstances  be 
what  they  may ;  unless,  indeed,"  I  added  quite  cas 
ually,  by  way  of  an  exceptive  demonstration  of  a 
general  proposition, — "unless,  indeed,  it  be  infamy. 
Dishonor,  indeed  "  — 


150  WENSLEY. 

1  stopped  short ;  for  looking  at  Eleanor,  who  was 
earnestly  listening  to  me  as  I  spoke,  I  saw  that  some 
thing  touched  her.  A  sort  of  spasm  seemed  to  con 
tract  her  features  ;  her  eyes  closed ;  and  she  bit  her 
under  lip  so  suddenly  that  the  blood  actually  trickled 
down  her  beautiful  chin.  At  •  the  same  time  she 
violently  but  unconsciously  clutched  my  arm.  I  was 
greatly  alarmed,  and  exclaimed,  — 

"  Dearest  Eleanor,  you  are  very  ill.  Let  me  call 
Petchell.  Let  me  help  you  into  the  house,  for  God's 
sake  I " 

"  No,  no,"  said  she,  recovering  herself  as  I  spoke. 
"  I  am  well  again.  It  was  a  transient  pain  ;  but  it  is 
gone  now,"  opening  her  eyes,  which  looked  preter- 
naturally  bright,  and,  contrasting  with  her  pale  face 
and  the  trickling  crimson  from  her  lip,  gave  her  an 
expression  which  almost  frightened  me,  it  was  so 
unnatural  and  wild. 

"  Come,"  she  said  presently,  —  "  come,  let  us  take 
a  turn  or  two.  It  will  make  me  better." 

We  rose  and  walked  slowly  down  the  path  under 
the  trees.  She  leaned  heavily  on  my  arm  ;  and  after 
a  single  turn,  in  which  she  rather  tottered  than 
walked,  she  said  that  she  must  go  in  ;  and  we  ap 
proached  the  turf  steps,  which,  as  I  have  said  before, 
assisted  the  ascent  to  the  house.  Eleanor  paused  for 
a  moment  at  the  foot ;  and  I,  merely  to  assist  her  in 
mounting  them,  passed  my  arm  round  her  waist  for 
her  more  effectual  support.  We  were  kinsfolk  you 
know,  at  least  after  a  sort,  and  common  humanity, 


WHICH   IS   EPISODICAL,    BUT    PROGRESSIVE.       151 

as  well  as  cousinly  affection,  made  it  imperative  upon 
rne  to  see  that  she  received  no  detriment  while  under 
my  charge.  At  any  rate,  as  she  found  no  fault  with 
the  arrangement  (I  am  afraid  that  she  never  noticed 
it),  I  apprehend  that  it  can  be  no  manner  of  concern 
of  yours.  Perhaps  there  was  no  absolute  necessity 
of  continuing  it  after  the  steps  had  been  scaled,  but 
something  must  be  forgiven  to  the  force  of  habit  (and 
some  habits  do  not  take  long  to.  form) ;  and  then  it 
must  be  remembered  that  the  ground  still  sloped 
gently  upward  as  you  skirted  the  screen  of  shrubbery 
which  divided  the  avenue  from  the  house. 

As  we  labored  rather  slowly  along  this  "  verdurous 
wall,"  some  one  suddenly  turned  the  corner,  and  ad 
vanced  towards  us.  At  first  I  supposed  that  it  must 
be  her  father,  and  was  glad  he  was  coming  to  my 
help.  But,  when  I  raised  my  eyes  to  his  face,  to  my 
great  surprise  I  saw  before  me  Henry  Markham, 
whom  I  had  parted  from  at  the  Exchange  Coffee  House 
only  two  or  three  days  before.  I  don't  know  how  it 
was ;  but  I  was  not  as  glad  to  see  him  at  that  moment 
as  I  would  have  sworn  I  should  have  been  to  meet 
him  in  Wensley,  when  we  arranged  his  visiting  me 
at  some  time  future.  It  was  quite  a  new  revelation 
to  me  that  he  was  on  such  terms  with  Eleanor  as  to 
come  to  see  her  without  some  greater  show  of  cere 
mony.  And,  to  do  him  justice,  he  did  not  seem  to 
be  much  better  pleased  with  the  particular  grouping 
of  the  figures  before  him.  Perhaps  he  thought  it  too 
particular.  I  am  sure  it  was  not  unpicturesque,  and, 


152  WEXSLEY. 

if  he  did  not  like  it,  why,  it  was  the  worse  for  him. 
As  for  Miss  Eleanor,  she  seemed  to  be  surprised  out 
of  all  her  late  agitation,  and  stood  quite  firmly  again 
in  the  face  of  this  apparition.  The  blood  rushed  into 
her  cheeks  with  the  pretty  effect  I  have  celebrated 
when  I  first  introduced  her  to  the  reader's  acquaint 
ance  ;  and  she  had  a  look  out  of  her  eyes  at  this 
young  man,  which  was  not  altogether  well  pleasing  in 
mine.  I  spoke  first. 

"  Markham,"  I  exclaimed,  "  you  are  better  than 
your  word !  You  are  upon  me  before  I  have  had 
time  to  tell  Miss  Allerton  that  you  were  coming  to 
Wensley.  But  you  are  welcome  all  the  same,  arid 
I  am  right  glad  to  see  you." 

I  am  afraid  this  assurance  must  be  reduced  into 
the  category  of  that  description  of  embroidery  about 
which  Mrs.  Amelia  Opie  wrote  a  story,  which  was 
much  in  vogue  about  that  time  (though,  as  I  remember 
them,  her  white  lies,  if  they  were  not  black  ones,  well 
deserved  to  be  such),  as  well  as  the  assertion  that  I 
had  not  had  time  to  tell  Eleanor  that  he  was  coming. 
I  think  that  I  might  have  found  time,  if  I  had  been 
economical  of  it,  to  have  told  her  as  much  as  that. 
But,  for  some  reason  or  other,  I  did  not  like  to  tell  her 
of  the  approaching  advent  of  so  handsome  and  taking 
an  Old- World  acquaintance  of  hers.  She  cast  a  look, 
in  which  there  was  a  good  deal  of  surprise  mingled 
witli  a  little  displeasure,  as  I  thought,  at  my  reticence, 
and  then,  bowing  to  Markham,  said,  — 

''  I  had  heard  from  papa  that  Mr.  Markham  was  in 


WHICH   IS   EPISODICAL,    BUT   PROGRESSIVE.        153 

the  country,  but  did  not  expect  the  pleasure  of  a  visit 
from  him  at  Wensley." 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  intruding  myself  upon  Miss 
Allerton,"  said  Harry,  a  little  discomposed,  but  a  good 
deal  miffed ;  "  but,  missing  of  my  friend  Osborne  at 
the  parsonage  (with  rather  a  savage  look  at  my  right 
arm,  which  was  now  relieved  from  its  recent  duty,  and 
was  supporting  hers),  I  took  the  liberty  of  walking 
over  here  to  find  him,  and  at  the  same  time  to  pay 
my  respects  to  Colonel  and  Miss  Allerton." 

"Papa  and  I  will  be  always  happy  to  see  the 
friends  of  Mr.  Osborne,"  Eleanor  returned  rather 
stiffly ;  "  and,  if  you  please,  we  will  return  into  the 
house,  and  I  will  send  for  him." 

It  is  barely  possible  that  Markham  would  have  dis 
pensed  with  this  last  attention  ;  but  he  could  not  well 
refuse  it,  and  so  he  turned  and  walked  along  with  us. 

"  Are  you  quite  well,  Miss  Allerton  ? "  he  presently 
inquired.  "I  am  afraid  you  have  met  with  some 
accident  just  now,"  looking  at  the  scarlet  stain  on  her 
ivory  skin.  "  Have  you  fallen  ?  " 

"  A  slight  accident,"  she  replied,  putting  her  hand 
to  her  lip.  "  Of  no  consequence  at  all  A  little  cold 
water  will  put  it  all  to  rights  again." 

There  was  no  time  for  further  speech,  for  we  were 
now  in  the  parlor.  Eleanor,  after  ringing  the  bell, 
and  ordering  her  father  to  be  called,  went  up  stairs 
to  her  dressing-room  to  wash  away  the  bloody  wit 
ness  from  her  face.  My  curiosity  was  well  aroused, 
as  may  be  well  supposed,  to  learn  the  relations  of  my 


154  WENSLEY. 

new  friend  and  my  cousins ;  but  I  had  no  time  for 
inquiry,  as  the  alert  step  of  the  Colonel  was  heard 
approaching  at  the  same  time  almost  that  her  light 
foot  was  over  the  other  threshold.  He  entered  with 
his  usual  open  and  cordial  face  of  hospitality  that 
ever  beamed  upon  the  stranger  within  his  gates.  As 
the  shades  of  evening  were  beginning  to  prevail,  he 
had  actually  grasped  the  hand  of  Markham  before 
he  saw  who  he  was.  When  he  discerned  his  visitor's 
face,  the  expression  of  his  own  changed  as  suddenly 
as  did  that  of  the  landscape  under  the  thunder-cloud 
to  whose  good  offices  I  had  owed  my  first  introduc 
tion  to  Woodside.  The  pressure  of  his  hand  was 
checked  in  mid-grasp,  and  that  of  his  visitor  dropped, 
after  no  prolonged  salutation.  His  air  was  pervaded 
with  a  perfectly  courteous  but  thoroughly  frigid  tone, 
enough,  I  am  sure,  to  have  turned  me  into  an  icicle, 
had  I  been  the  object  of  it. 

I  really  pitied  poor  Markham,  though  I  was  not 
regarding  him  just  then  with  absolute  complacency. 
I  saw  that  more  had  passed  between  him  and  the 
Allertons  in  England  than  he  had  chosen  to  intimate 
to  me  ;  and  I  would  have  given  Whitefoot,  and  boot 
besides,  to  anybody  that  could  tell  me  how  it  all  was. 
But  there  was  no  apparent  danger  of  my  being  led 
into  such  a  rashness.  There  was  no  one  who  could 
enlighten  me  on  this  side  the  Atlantic.  But  stop  — 
was  there  no  one  ?  There  was  Petchell.  She  must 
know  all  about  it.  But  it  would  be  base  and  ungen- 
tleinanlike  to  pry  into  the  secrets  of  my  hospitable 


WHICH  IS  EPISODICAL,    BUT   PROGRESSIVE.       155 

cousins  in  that  kind  of  way.  So  it  would.  But,  on 
the  whole,  I  am  rather  glad  that  I  had  no  opportu 
nity  for  a  tete-a-tete  interview  with  "  Machiavel  the 
waiting-maid,"  about  that  time. 

The  salutations  over,  as  above  described,  Colonel 
Allerton  waved  us  to  seats,  and  then  took  a  chair  him 
self.  He  first  made  civil  inquiries  after  Markham's 
family ;  which  being  satisfied,  he  then  proceeded,  — 

"  I  did  not  expect  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  in 
America  when  we  parted  in  London." 

"  I  did  not  then  anticipate  visiting  this  country," 
said  Markham.  "But  circumstances  have  made  it 
seem  important  to  me  to  come  hither,  though  I 
may  have  over-estimated  their  urgency." 

"  Indeed  !  "  replied  the  Colonel  rather  dryly,  though 
very  politely.  "  I  had  no  idea  that  Mr.  Henry  Mark- 
ham's  affairs  were  of  such  pressing  moment.  I  hope 
they  will  arrange  themselves  to  his  satisfaction." 

"  I  hope,  sir,"  he  returned,  "  that  I  shall  accom 
plish  the  purpose  of  my  journe}^ ;  though  it  was  not 
undertaken  for  my  own  benefit,  and  I  do  not  expect 
either  gratitude  or  reward  for  what  I  came  to  at 
tempt." 

"That  would  be  a  pity,"  answered  Colonel  Aller 
ton  a  little  sub-acidulously.  "  And  perhaps  it  would 
have  been  well  to  have  considered  how  your  services 
were  likely  to  be  regarded  by  your  clients  before  you 
volunteered  them  in  their  cause.  Working  for  others 
for  nothing,  and  without  their  desire,  is  not  the  way 
to  become  lord-chancellor,  Mr.  Markham.  But,  then, 


156  WENSLEY. 

I  know  nothing  of  the  nature  of  your  affairs,"  he 
added  in  a  courteous  tone. 

"  I  do  not  defend  the  wisdom  of  my  conduct,"  said 
Markham,  in  a  tone  of  deeply- mortified  feeling ; 
"  but  I  am  sure  of  its  motive  ;  and,  as  I  hope  for  no 
recompense,  I  hope  I  may  be  forgiven  if  I  have  been 
fool  enough  to  throw  away  my  own  time  and  pains, 
looking  not  for  my  own  again." 

"That,  sir,"  replied  the  Colonel  with  cool  polite 
ness,  "  is  a  question  which  you  alone  can  decide,  as 
you  alone  know  what  your  plans  are.  But  you  will 
pardon  me,  if,  as  an  old  man,  I  advise  you,  a  very 
young  one,  to  direct  your  chief  attention  in  affairs  to 
those  with  which  you  are  thoroughly  acquainted,  and 
in  which  you  have  a  legitimate  call  to  assist." 

Markham  was  evidently  much  hurt  by  the  words 
and  manner  of  his  host,  though  I  could  see  no  reason 
why.  Of  course  I  knew  that  more  was  meant  than 
met  my  ear ;  but  that  was  small  comfort  to  me.  He 
made  no  reply  except  a  bow,  by  no  means  as  easy 
and  degagd  as  those  I  had  seen  him  make  in  the 
drawing-rooms  about  Boston.  But  just  then  Miss 
Allerton  re-appeared,  calm  and  composed  as  ever,  and 
forthwith  rang  for  lights  and  tea.  The  conversation 
was  not  very  well  sustained  after  this  event ;  the 
three  others  being,  apparently,  thinking  of  something 
besides  what  they  were  saying,  and  I  as  busily  en 
gaged  in  thinking  what  that  something  could  be.  I 

o    o  o  o 

was  rather  too  fast  in  saying  that  Eleanor's  manner 
was  as  calm  and  composed  as  ever.  It  was  plain  to 


WHICH  IS  EPISODICAL,   BUT  PROGRESSIVE.        157 

me,  on  the  close  though  guarded  observation  to  which 
I  subjected  her,  that  she  was  making  a  strong  effort 
to  appear  as  if  it  were.  But  there  was  a  little  tre 
mor  in  the  hands  as  she  took  her  cup  of  tea,  and  a 
careful  avoidance  of  Markham's  eye,  which  soon  re 
covered  courage  enough  to  go  in  search  of  hers,  which 
I  saw  plainly  enough,  and  which,  though  it  was  none 
of  my  business,  I  did  not  like  at  all. 

For  the  first  time  since  I  had  visited  at  the  Aller- 
tous',  and  often  as  I  had  partaken  of  the  fragrant 
decoction  of  Cathay  in  their  company,  the  elements  of 
that  most  social  of  meals  (some  people  prefer  break 
fast  ;  but  I  am  apt  to  be  sulky  then)  were  dispensed 
from  a  circumambulatory  tray,  instead  of  resting  on 
a  solid,  steadfast  tea-table.  It  was,  in  short,  what 
some  opprobriously,  but  justly,  style  a  lap  tea,  —  an 
institution  which  I  detest  and  execrate.  I  must  con 
fess  to  a  secret  sense  of  exultation  when  I  have  seen 
a  clumsy  boy  upset  a  cup  of  tea  over  the  glossy  silk 
of  the  lady  of  the  house,  or  drop  a  slice  of  bread  and 
butter  —  "  and  always  on  the  buttered  side  "  —  upon 
the  puffy  pile  of  her  Wilton  or  Axminster  carpet.  It 
must  have  been  a  "lap  tea"  at  which  Belinda  as 
sisted  on  the  fatal  day  of  the  Kape  of  the  Lock  ;  only 
it  was  before  dinner,  and  was  coffee,  and  not  tea.  For 
what  did  the  sylphs  think  it  necessary  to  do  ? 

"  Straight  hover  round  the  fair  her  airy  band  : 
Some,  as  she  sipped,  the  fuming  liquor  fanned  ; 
Some  o'er  her  lap  their  careful  plumes  displayed, 
Trembling,  and  conscious  of  the  rich  brocade." 


158  WENSLEY. 

Now,  there  would  have  been  no  such  need  of  this 
anxiety  if  her  (I  beg  pardon,  "  la  reine  dEspagne 
ria  point  des  jambcs  ")  —  if  her  lap  had  been  safely 
ensconced  under  the  mahogany.  What  wonder,  then, 
that,  while  thus  engaged,  the  relentless  baron  should 
have  reft  the  envied  tress 

"  From  the  fair  head  forever  and  forever." 

I  am  the  more  zealous  to  maintain  the  integrity  of 
the  tea-table,  as  an  occasional  slight  fit  of  the  gout 
(entirely  hereditary)  compels  me,  though  so  young  a 
man,  to  forego  prolonged  sessions  after  dinner.  But 
this  is  aside  from  the  stately  march  of  my  narrative. 

I  drew  one  inference  from  this  innovation  on  the 
customs  of  Woodside,  which  was,  that,  though  its 
character  for  hospitality  was  to  be  maintained,  it  did 
not  think  it  necessary  to  be  cordial.  So,  after  the 
tray  had  made  its  third  and  last  round,  I  ordered 
my  horse,  and  took  my  leave.  Markham,  though  he 
had  come  on  foot,  departed  with  me,  and  with  no  en 
treaties  to  the  contrary  to  resist.  The  Colonel  and 
Eleanor  bade  him  good-night  very  civilly ;  but  they 
threw  even  more  than  their  usual  cordiality  into  their 
manners  towards  me.  I  was  not  flattered  by  it  this 
time,  nor  yet  was  poor  Markham ;  for  we  both  under 
stood  it  well  enough.  He  walked  alongside  me,  with 
his  hand  on  the  saddle  (Whitefoot  walked  remarkably 
fast  and  well),  and  I  accompanied  him  to  Grirnes's 
door. 

He  said  but  little,  and  I  not  much  more,  as  it  was 
impossible  to  say  what  I  wanted  to.  He  showed 


WHICH   IS   EPISODICAL,   BUT   PROGRESSIVE.       159 

no  disposition  to  make  me  his  confidant ;  and  I  was 
none  the  nearer  plucking  out  the  heart  of  this 
mystery,  supposing  it  had  one,  than  when  I  first 
suspected  its  existence.  Arrived  at  the  Major's,  I 
resolutely  declined  Markham's  invitation  to  go  in, 
and  the  more  earnest  if  less  disinterested  urgency 
of  the  host  himself  to  partake  of  a  mug  of  Hip  or  a 
rummer  of  punch,  as  a  safeguard  against  the  night 
air.  Facing  this  enemy  without  either  infallible 
spell  against  its  perils,  I  put  my  horse  up  to  his 
speed,  his  hoofs  marking  their  course  by  a  con 
tinuous  line  of  sparkles,  and  the  bridge  returning  a 
hollow  roar,  heard  far  through  the  village,  as  he  gal 
loped  over  it.  A  very  brief  time  sufficed  to  bring  us 
to  the  parsonage  and  to  Jasper. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast,  as  I  was  telling 
Mr.  Bulkley  the  particulars  of  Markham's  visit  to 
Woodside,  —  only  suppressing,  as  is  usually  the  case 
with  most  human  communications,  what  was  most 
characteristically  essential  to  them,  and  he  was  listen 
ing  eagerly  to  my  narration,  —  Jasper  entered  with  a 
more  important  countenance  than  usual,  looking  as 
if  he  had  something  to  say  too.  When  I  had  done 
my  story,  the  Parson  turned  to  Jasper  and  said,  — 

"  Who  was  that  in  the  wagon  I  saw  you  talking 
with  just  now  ?  Anybody  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Jasper ;  "  it  was  only  Jehiel 
Abbot,  from  Jericho  (meaning,  not  the  ancient  city 
of  that  name,  at  which  unscrupulous  moderns  —  why, 
I  know  not  —  are  apt  to  wish  troublesome  things  and 


160  WENSLEY. 

persons,  but  a  remote  school  district  so  christened 
by  common  consent).  He  says  there 's  a  scrape  up 
there,  sir." 

"  Scrape  !  What  scrape  ?  What  d  'ye  mean  ? "  in 
terrogated  the  divine. 

"Why,  he  says,  sir,"  answered  Jasper,  "that  old 
Captain  Hunt  swears  that  his  daughter  Sukey  Ann 
sha'n't  marry  Jeremiah  Adarns  nohow.  And  she's 
taking  on  dreadful,  he  says,  sir." 

"  Not  marry  Jeremiah  ! "  exclaimed  the  minister. 
"  What 's  the  meaning  of  that  ?  Were  not  the  banns 
stuck  up  in  the  meeting-house  porch  last  Sabbath?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  responded  Jasper.  "  I  saw  the  folks 
reading  'em  ;  and  I  looked  over  Pete  Spicer's  shoul 
der,  and  they  was  there,  sir." 

"Well,  then,  what's  the  matter  with  the  Cap 
tain?"  inquired  his  master.  "What  has  Jeremiah 
done  ? " 

"  Nothing,  sir,  has  n't  Jeremiah,"  replied  the  man. 
"  It 's  Squire  Enoch,  his  father,  that  the  Captain 's  mad 
with.  It's  something  about  the  right  to  drive  his 
cattle  over  Hog's  Neck  down  to  Rocky  Valley  to 
pasture.  The  Captain  fenced  in  Hog's  Neck  into  his 
nineteen-acre  lot;  and  the  Squire  broke  the  fence 
down,  and  said  he  'd  as  much  right  to  go  over  the 
Neck  as  the  Captain  had  to  go  over  the  road  to 
meeting." 

"  Oho,"  said  the  Parson ;  "  it 's  the  old  quarrel 
about  the  right  of  way  over  Hog's  Neck,  is  it  ?  The 
land  on  Hog's  Neck,"  he  proceeded,  addressing  him- 


WHICH   IS  EPISODICAL,    BUT   PROGRESSIVE.        161 

self  to  me,  and  laughing  as  he  spoke,  "is  worth  about 
three  cents  an  acre,  and  that  of  Eocky  Valley  is  worth 
full  three  cents  less.  I  thought  I  had  patched  up 
that  trouble  a  long  while  ago.  So  it 's  broken  out 
afresh,  you  say,  Jasper  ? " 

"  Worse  than  ever,  sir,"  Jasper  said.  "  The  Captain 
said  he'd  shoot  the  Squire  if  he  touched  the  fence 
again ;  and  the  Squire  told  him  to  fire  away,  and 
pulled  it  down  the  next  morning.  Then  the  Captain 
swore  he  'd  sue  him ;  and  the  Squire  told  him  to  sue 
and  be"  — 

"Never  mind  that  part  of  it,"  interrupted  the 
minister,  laughing.  "  And  the  upshot  of  the  matter 
is,  that  the  match  is  off  between  pretty  Susey  Hunt 
and  Jerry  Adams,  is  it  ? " 

"  So  the  Captain  says,  and  the  Squire  too ;  but 
Jehiel  says  Jerry  says  he  won't  stand  it,  and  he  '11 
marry  her  whether  or  no,"  said  Jasper. 

"  There 's  a  fine  fellow  !  "  rejoined  the  minister, 
rubbing  his  hands  complacently ;  for  he  took  the 
interest  of  a  girl  in  all  the  marrying  and  giving  in 
marriage  in  Wensley.  "  He  ought  to  be  kicked, 
though,  if  he  did  n't  say  so.  But  I  must  try  and 
hinder  any  breach  of  discipline,  if  I  can.  Things  had 
better  be  done  decently  and  in  order.  So  the  Captain 
says  he  '11  sue,  does  he  ? " 

"  He  swears  he  will,"  replied  Jasper ;  "  and  Jehiel 
was  to  stop  at  Grimes's  and  tell  the  stage  to  call 
round  this  afternoon,  as  he 's  going  to  Lawyer  Pratt, 
at  Haverford,  about  it." 
11 


162  WENSLEY. 

"  Merciful  goodness ! "  exclaimed  the  minister, 
half  in  jest,  but  a  full  half  in  earnest.  "  If  he  has 
gone  that  length,  it  is  time  for  me  to  step  in,  to  be 
sure.  Lawyer  Pratt  in  Wensley  !  That  must  be 
hindered  at  any  rate.  I  can  have  no  such  wolf  as 
that  among  my  lambs.  Jasper,  get  my  horse  ready, 
and  1 11  see  after  it  at  once." 

"  Had  n't  you  better  take  mine,  sir  ?  "  said  I.  "  He 
will  carry  you  to  the  field  of  action  the  sooner." 

"No,  no,  I  thank  you,"  he  replied,  shaking  his 
head.  "  I  '11  stick  to  my  old  friend  as  long  as  he 
lasts ;  for  I  'm  afraid  I  should  not  stick  to  your  new 
one.  I  served  in  the  infantry,  you  know,  and  was 
brigade  major  for  only  two  campaigns.  And,  by  the 
way,  as  you  will  want  to  see  your  friend  to-day,  I  '11 
grant  you  a  furlough  from  actual  service  for  that 
time.  Bring  him  to  dinner  with  you,  if  he  will 
come.'' 

And  as  soon  as  he  was  brought  round,  the  brisk 
old  man  mounted  his  old  horse,  as  if  he  had  been  a 
charger  smelling  the  battle  afar  off  (and  perhaps  he 
did),  and  shambled  away  upon  him  in  the  direction 
of  Jericho.  His  taking  the  field  thus  promptly 
against  the  threatened  invasion  of  Lawyer  Pratt  was, 
as  I  had  already  learned,  only  a  part  of  the  estab 
lished  policy  of  his  realm.  He  seemed  to  have 
erected  himself  into  a  high  court  of  justice  within 
its  limits,  and  for  many  years  had  judged  without 
appeal  in  the  controversies  which  would  sometimes 
arise  in  his  parish.  Such  a  thing  as  a  suit  at  law 


WHICH  IS   EPISODICAL,    BUT   PROGRESSIVE.        163 

was  unheard  of  within  the  memory  of  the  middle- 
aged  section  of  the  Wensleyans. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  such  a  state  of  things 
was  unpropitious  to  the  prospects  of  the  noble  pro 
fession  of  the  law.  It  was  many  years  since  the  last 
suckling  practitioner  who  had  ventured  to  occupy  the 
little  square  office  between  the  grocer's  shop  and  the 
meeting-house  (built  by  Mr.  Remington,  the  prede 
cessor  of  the  Allertons  at  Woodside,  away  back  in  the 
last  century,  literally  before  the  year  one)  —  it  was 
many  years,  I  say,  since  Eliphalet  W.  Peabody,  now 
member  of  Congress  for  the  twenty-ninth  district  of 
Ohio,  fled  to  the  western  wilderness,  as  it  was  then, 
from  before  the  face  of  fate,  of  starvation,  and  of 
Parson  Bulkley.  The  office  had  been  for  more  than 
a  quarter  of  a  century  converted  (or  perverted)  into 
the  primary-school-house  of  the  first  district,  presided 
over  in  my  time  by  Miss  Lucinda  Jane  Sparhawk 
(now  Mrs.  Judge  Wilkinson,  of  Bytown),  who  was 
not  a  bad-looking  girl  either. 

But  I  may  as  well  mention,  a  propos  to  the  tender 
griefs  of  Jeremiah  and  Sukey  as  recounted  by  Jasper, 
that  there  was  another  troubler  of  the  peace  than  law, 
about  which  the  good  Parson  took  an  active  interest 
whenever  it  applied  to  any  of  his  parishioners ;  and 
that  was  —  love.  Though  a  bachelor  past  hope  for 
many  years,  he  was  a  great  promoter  of  matrimony. 
He  had  a  sharp  eye  for  a  love  affair ;  and,  when  he 
approved  of  the  connection,  he  was  an  invaluable 
auxiliary.  Many  was  the  match  to  which  he  had 


164  WENSLEY. 

smoothed  the  way,  and  many  was  the  course  of  true 
love  of  which  he  had  cleared  away  the  impediments 
that  hindered  it  from  running  smooth.  To  look  at, 
he  did  not  seem  to  be  a  much  properer  person  to 
trust  a  love  tale  to  than  Cato  himself.  But  there 
was  nothing  stoical  about  him ;  and  this  was  so  well 
understood  that  the  young  people  of  the  town  were 
as  ready  to  confide  their  difficulties  in  this  sort  to 
him  as  to  any  of  their  contemporaries.  They  were 
sure  of  a  tender  and  active. interest  in  their  affairs 
which  scarcely  ever  failed  to  bring  them  to  a  happy 
conclusion,  if  they  deserved  such  an  ending. 

In  short,  he  was  in  himself  a  parliament  of  love, 
as  well  as  a  high  court  of  justice,  for  the  domain  of 
Wensley.  And  he  bore  his  faculties  meekly,  as  well 
as  absolutely,  so  that  no  one  complained  of  him,  — 
the  very  Trajan  or  Antouine  of  village  despots.  I 
thought  I  could  observe  that  he  had  composed  a  little 
sort  of  romance  in  his  own  mind,  of  which  Eleanor 
Allerton  and  1  were  chief  characters.  But  I  rather 
felt  than  saw  it,  as  he  abstained  from  any  demonstra 
tive  interference  or  intimation  of  it  with  the  most 
scrupulous  delicacy.  So  scrupulous  was  he,  indeed, 
that  I  should  have  found  it  hard  to  get  an  oppor 
tunity  to  tell  him  what  our  relations  to  each  other 
really  were.  But,  if  I  could,  I  wonder  whether  I 
should  have  done  it.  It  is  odd  what  satisfaction  we 
find  in  this  world  of  ours,  not  only  in  our  own  delu 
sions  (what  should  we  be  without  them  ?),  but  also 
in  the  delusions  of  others  about  us. 


CHAPTER  X. 

IN  WHICH   THE   CALDRON  BEGINS  TO   SIMMER. 

I  SPENT  the  morning  with  Markham,  as  the  min 
ister  had  supposed  I  should ;  and  we  made  such 
a  reconnaissance  of  the  country  as  the  good  grace  of 
Black  Sally  accorded  to  us.  She  performed  her  part 
of  the  contract  safely  and  surely,  if  not  with  inordinate 
velocity,  and  enabled  us  to  respond  to  the  almost 
parental  pride  with  which  the  Major  seemed  to  boast 
of  his  horses,  without  more  than  a  simple  fracture  of 
the  truth.  The  Major  was,  of  course,  a  new  study  to 
Markham,  who  had  only  known  the  obsequious  and 
deferential  landlords  of  merry  England  ;  but  he  was 
of  a  temperament  to  adapt  himself  to  any  concatena 
tion  of  circumstances  which  might  involve  him,  and 
was  by  no  means  slack  in  accepting  the  platform  of 
social  equality  which  placed  the  old-fashioned  New 
England  host  on  a  level  with  his  guest.  Markham 
was  singularly  free  from  the  John-Bullism  which 
makes  so  many  of  the  progeny  of  that  respectable 
sire  appear  so  very  much  like  calves  when  they  find 
themselves  in  a  new  pasture. 

To  be  sure,  he  was  a  parcel  Yankee ;  and  his 
mother's  milk  might  yet  qualify  the  elements  of 
which  he  was  kindly  mixed.  But,  as  a  general  thing, 


166  WENSLEY. 

your  half-breed  Englishman  is  more  unpleasantly  na 
tional  than  the  full-blooded  animals  themselves,  — 
Anglis  ipsis  Anglior,  —  and  appears  to  take  more  than 
an  Englishman's  delight  in  making  himself  disagree 
able.  But  Markham  was  none  of  this  sort.  He  was 
a  cosmopolitan  gentleman,  and  carried  with  him  all 
over  the  world  that  sweetness  of  temper  and  sincere 
wish  to  make  those  with  whom  he  found  himself  hap 
py  and  on  good  terms  with  themselves,  which  was 
sure  to  extract  what  good  there  was  from  whatever 
men  or  manners  he  lighted  on,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  make  friends  and  well-wishers  everywhere. 

Being  such  as  he  was,  what  could  have  been  the 
reason  of  the  cold  and  severely  civil  treatment  he  had 
met  with  at  Woodside,  from  persons  whose  characters 
and  manners  seemed  to  be  so  eminently  like  his  own  ? 
I  could  not  make  it  out  at  all  to  my  satisfaction. 
Nor  could  I  well  seek  satisfaction  from  Markham 
himself,  unless  he  led  to  the  subject  and  volunteered 
the  explanation  I  desiderated;  neither  of  which  things 
he  did  during  this  morning's  drive.  He  was  not 
quite  as  chatty  as  he  used  to  be  in  our  rides  round 
Boston  ;  and  there  was  a  little  shade  over  his  features 
at  first,  such  as  even  a  passing  grief  leaves  behind  it 
for  a  season  ;  but  it  gradually  rose  from  his  counte 
nance  and  dispersed  itself,  as  the  shadow  of  a  cloud 
passes  away  from  the  landscape,  and  he  became 
cheerful,  if  not  mercurial,  as  usual,  long  before  we 
betook  ourselves  to  the  parsonage  in  accordance  with 
Mr.  Bulkley's  invitation. 


IN   WHICH   THE   CALDRON   BEGINS   TO   SIMMER.      167 

My  account  of  that  excellent  man  had  made  Mark- 
ham  intelligently  curious  to  see  him  ;  and  they  came 
at  once  into  friendly  relations  with  each  other.  Their 
points  of  resemblance  and  of  difference  equally  fitted 
them  for  a  close  adaptation  to  one  another.  Mr. 
Bulkley  was  an  old  man,  and  Markham  a  young  one. 
The  former  had  lived  for  near  forty  years  in  the 
almost  eremitic  seclusion  of  Wensley  ;  the  latter  had 
spent  in  the  crowds  and  turmoil  of  London  all  the 
years  of  his  life  that  had  not  been  passed  in  the  dif 
fering  but  not  diverse  excitation  of  a  great  university. 
Both  were  lovers  of  learning  (Markhain  had  gradua 
ted  with  high  honors)  and  of  queer  books.  Markham 
was  vastly  more  exact  in  his  knowledge  of  the 
mechanism  of  the  ancient  languages,  and  more  critical 
in  all  their  ornamentation  of  metres  and  quantities, 
than  the  imperfect  instruction  of  Mr.  Bulkley's  youth 
had  made  him.  But  the  latter  was  quite  as  fully 
master  of  the  spirit  of  the  greater  classics  as  my 
younger  friend  ;  and  he  was  familiar  with  a  much 
wider  range  of  authors  more  talked  of  than  read,  in 
cluding  the  later  Platonists  and  the  mediaeval  Latin- 
ists.  Markham,  however,  was  much  better  versed  in 
contemporary  literature  than  Mr.  Bulkley  pretended 
or  cared  to  be,  —  much  better,  indeed,  than  English 
university  men,  wranglers,  and  medallists,  who  take 
high  honors  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  are  apt  to  be 
even  at  this  day.  Neither  of  them  was  a  man  of  sur 
passing  abilities ;  but  they  had  both  of  them  made 
the  most  of  what  they  had,  and  had  them  always  in 


168  WEXSLEY. 

order  for  use.  And  for  "  human  nature's  daily  food," 
I  preferred  them  to  most  of  the  great  geniuses  I  have 
encountered  in  my  walk  through  Vanity  Fair ;  and  I 
have  stumbled,  at  one  time  or  another,  on  almost  all 
of  special  note  within  the  last  quarter  of  a  century. 

When  we  were  fairly  seated  at  the  table,  —  which 
Jasper  had  done  his  best  to  set  out  in  honor  of  the 
occasion,  though  he  cast  rather  an  evil  eye  at  Mark- 
ham  at  first,  as  "  the  spawn  of  an  old  Tory,"  as  he 
phrased  it,  with  more  of  emphasis  than  elegance,  — 
I  asked  Mr.  Bulkley  as  to  the  success  of  his  cam 
paign  against  Jericho. 

"Why,  I  found  it  shut  up  almost  as  strait  as 
Jericho  of  old,"  said  he  ;  "  but  I  think  the  walls 
will  fall  down  by  the  time  I  have  compassed  it  once 
or  twice  more,  and  blown  a  blast  or  two  on  rny 
ram's  horn." 

"  Well,  sir,"  I  put  in,  "  and  Jasper  and  I  will 
shout  in  your  cause ;  for  we  are  all  the  people  you 
have  to  help  you,  I  suppose." 

"  Pray,  make  me  free  of  your  tribe,"  said  Mark- 
ham,  whom  I  had  possessed  of  the  facts  of  the 
case. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  answered  the  Parson  ;  "  but 
I  hope  you  will  only  have  to  shout  for  my  vic 
tory,  and  not  in  my  help.  I  think  I  have  nearly 
arranged  it." 

"And  how  does  it  stand,  sir ?"  I  inquired. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  he  replied.  "  I  found  it  all  as 
Jasper  told  us.  Squire  Adams  and  Captain  Hunt 


IN   WHICH   THE   CALDRON   BEGINS   TO   SIMMER.      169 

were  in  high  feud,  and  poor  Sue  in  great  affliction, 
and  Jeremiah  in  a  towering  passion,  and  all  about  a 
right  of  way  over  nothing  to  nowhere  ;  for  that  is 
about  the  exact  value  of  the  matters  in  dispute." 

"  Did  you  tell  them  so,  sir  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Bless  you,  no,  indeed  !  "  he  answered.  "  I  made 
much  of  it,  you  may  be  sure.  To  make  short  work 
of  the  story,  I  at  last  prevailed  on  Hunt  to  postpone 
his  visit  to  Lawyer  Pratt,  agreeing  to  get  the  opinion 
of  Boston  counsel  as  to  the  right  of  way  over  Hog's 
Neck.  And  I  afterwards  got  Adams  to  agree  that, 
if  the  opinion  were  against  himself,  he  would  give 
the  Kocky  Valley  pastures  to  Jeremiah  on  his  mar 
riage  to  Sukey,  if  Hunt  would  concede  the  right  of 
way  to  him.  So  I  imagine  I  shall  settle  the  quarrel 
without  promoting  a  lawsuit  and  without  damag 
ing  a  lovesuit.  And  I  am  now  quite  ready  for  my 
dinner." 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  deserved  it,  sir,"  said  Mark- 
ham  ;  "  but,  if  there  were  many  such  clergymen  as 
you,  I  am  afraid  it  would  go  hard  with  us  lawyers." 

"Fear  nothing,  my  young  friend,"  returned  the 
Parson ;  "  there  is  little  danger  of  the  gospel  prevail 
ing  against  the  law  in  your  day.  The  juice  of  Mother 
Eve's  apple  is  not  worked  out  of  the  veins  of  her 
children  quite  yet.  And  that  puts  me  in  mind, 
Jasper,  that  you  have  not  brought  up  the  bottled 
cider." 

This  oversight  was  speedily  remedied;  and  froth 
ing  cups,  such  as  Phillips,  the  bard  of  cider,  might 


170  WENSLEY. 

have  sung,  crowned  the  board.  This  beverage,  of 
which  both  the  Parson  and  Jasper  were  justly  proud, 
as  the  production  of  their  own  orchard  and  mill,  was 
made  from  a  receipt  given  to  Lieutenant  Bulkley  by 
Major  Sir  John  Knatchbull,  a  baronet  of  the  cider 
county  of  Gloucestershire,  when  he  was  a  prisoner  on 
parole  after  Burgoyne's  surrender.  It  was  produced 
only  on  rare  occasions,  —  such  as  a  visit  from  an 
Oxonian,  who  wa.s  also  the  son  of  an  old-world  friend 
from  whom  he  had  been  separated  for  such  long  years 
by  politics  and  the  ocean.  A  moderate  glass  of  very 
excellent  Madeira,  the  gift  of  Lieutenant-Governor 
Bromfield  years  ago,  concluded  the  repast.  The  Par 
son  then  lighted  his  pipe,  and  Markham  and  I  our 
cigars ;  and  a  fine  afternoon  of  talk  we  had  of  it. 
But  that  must  be  passed  by  in  silence ;  as  there  is 
a  limit  at  which  a  story,  like  patience,  ceases  to  be  a 
virtue.  Before  we  separated,  which  was  not  till 
after  tea  and  well  into  the  evening,  Mr.  Bulkley 
informed  us  that  he  should  go  to  Boston  the  next 
morning. 

"  I  meant  to  go  the  next  day,"  said  he,  "  to  see 
about  Dr.  Felch's  council  of  dismission  ;  but  I  prefer 
putting  myself  out  of  my  way  a  little  to  break  this 
Hog's  Neck,  inasmuch  as  they  both  are  a  trifle 
ashamed  of  giving  me  the  trouble  I  am  to  have  ;  and 
I  am  confident  it  will  clinch  the  matter.  I  think 
Mr.  Hayley  must  give  an  opinion  which  will  answer 
my  purpose  ;  and,  which  is  better,  he  '11  ask  nothing 
for  it." 


IN   WHICH   THE   CALDRON   BEGINS   TO   SIMMER.      171 

Markham,  hearing  this,  declared  that  he  would 
avail  himself  of  the  chance  of  his  company  back  to 
town,  as  he  had  accomplished  his  visit  to  me.  f  I  re 
monstrated  against  this  determination,  in  which  the 
minister  joined  me  ;  though,  as  he  said,  he  wras  argu 
ing  against  himself.  Markham  was  firm,  however ; 
and  the  next  morning,  accordingly,  he  was  in  the 
coach  when  it  came  round  to  the  parsonage  ;  and  it 
whirled  them  "both  off  together,  after  brief  time  for 
leave-taking, —  Parson  Bulkley  declaring  that  if  the 
proverb  were  true,  that  "  good  company  was  as  good 
as  a  coach,"  certainly  good  company  and  a  coach  too 
were  better  still. 

Left  thus  alone,  with  only  the  company  of  Tacitus 
and  Euripides  (I  do  not  mention  Jasper,  as  he  was 
engaged  in  composing  some  practical  Bucolic  or 
Georgic  in  the  fields)  to  console  me,  the  judicious 
reader  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that,  after  wres 
tling  for  a  season  with  these  ancient  worthies,  I  closed 
their  "  ponderous  and  marble  (covered)  jaws,"  which 
they  had  expanded  for  my  torment,  and  thought  that 
a  walk  to  Woodside  would  be  no  more  than  a  proper 
reward  of  my  diligence.  As  I  passed  directly  by  the 
post-office  in  my  way  thither,  I  of  course  looked  in  to 
see  what  was  the  state  of  my  correspondence.  The 
cross  old  postmaster,  who  had  held  the  office  since  its 
erection,  under  Washington,  handed  me  a  thick  letter, 
telling  me  gruffly  that  there  was  only  a  cent  to  pay, 
as  it  was  a  drop  letter,  or  one  put  into  the  office  at 
the  town,  —  the  only  one,  he  went  on  to  say,  in  a 


172  WENSLEY. 

tone  of  injured  innocence,  that  had  been  put  in  for 
more  than  a  year.  He  guessed  it  was  a  love-letter. 

As  I  had  no  reason,  that  I  knew  of,  for  sharing  in 
this  conjecture,  I  opened  the  envelope  as  I  went 
along,  and,  to  my  surprise,  found  that  it  contained  a 
letter  addressed  to  Ann  Petchell,  my  cousin  Eleanor's 
femme  de  chambre.  A  few  lines  were  written  inside 
the  envelope,  asking  me  to  do  the  writer  the  favor  to 
deliver  the  enclosure  to  Ann  Petchell  herself,  as  it 
was  a  matter  of  importance  to  her ;  but  without  signa 
ture,  and  in  a  hand  that  I  did  not  know.  I  could  not 
imagine  what  it  meant ;  and  concluded  at  last  that  old 
Kimball,  the  postmaster,  was  probably  not  far  wrong, 
and  that  the  document  must  be  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  love-letter.  I  was  not  over  well  pleased  with 
being  made  thus  the  go-between  of  a  waiting  maid, 
and  marvelled  at  the  impudence  of  her  correspondent. 
And  it  occurred  to  me  further,  that  if  Miss  Petchell 
were  involved  in  an  amorous  correspondence,  such  as 
I  supposed  this  to  be,  she  was  not  altogether  what 
Eleanor  took  her  for,  and  perhaps  not  precisely  the 
person  she  would  choose  to  have  about  her  if  she 
knew  the  fact.  So  I  determined  that  I  would  let 
her  or  her  father  know  the  circumstance,  before  I 
performed  my  part  of  Mercury  to  Petchell. 

I  had  an  opportunity  speedily  afforded  me  ;  for,  as 
I  was  approaching  the  gate,  which  admitted  you 
into  the  grounds  from  the  high  road,  I  met  Colonel 
Allerton,  who  was  coining  down  the  road  from  the 
opposite  direction.  We  turned  into  the  sweep 


IN   WHICH   THE   CALDRON   BEGINS   TO   SIMMER.      173 

together,  and,  as  we  walked  along  the  hard  gravel,  he 
said  to  me, — 

"  I  see  you  have  an  unopened  letter  in  your  hand. 
Do  not  refrain  from  reading  it  on  my  account.  You 
are  at  the  happy  age  when  a  letter  is  a  pleasure. 
Don't  delay  yours." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  I  answered, 
laughing ;  "  and  I  should  like  particularly  well  to 
read  this  particular  letter.  But,  unluckily,  it  does 
not  belong  to  me." 

"  Indeed  ! "  he  replied.  "  Is  it  for  me,  or  Eleanor  ? " 
holding  out  his  hand  for  it. 

"  It  is  for  one  of  your  family,  sir,"  said  I ;  "  but 
for  neither  you  nor  my  cousin  Eleanor.  It  is  for 
Miss  Ann  Petchell."  And  I  told  him  the  odd  way 
in  which  it  came  into  my  possession. 

"  Let  me  see  it,  if  you  please,"  said  he.  "  I  see  no 
reason  why  you  should  be  troubled  with  her  letters. 
This  is  odd,"  he  went  on  to  himself,  closely  scru 
tinizing  the  handwriting ;  "  this  is  very  odd  indeed. 
What  can  it  mean  ?  " 

We  were  now  at  the  door ;  and  we  forthwith  pro 
ceeded  to  his  library,  where  we  found  Eleanor  seated 
by  her  father's  fire,  which  a  little  chilliness  and  damp 
ness,  incident  to  our  hottest  summers,  made  by  no 
means  unsatisfactory.  While  we  were  exchanging  sal 
utations  and  inquiries  the  Colonel  rang  the  bell,  which 
was  answered  by  Mrs.  Warner,  the  housekeeper. 

"  Send  Petchell  here  directly,"  said  he.  "  I  wish  to 
see  her." 


174  WEXSLEY. 

"  Petchell ! "  said  Eleanor,  looking  at  him  and  then 
at  me  in  surprise,  "  Petchell !  " 

But  there  was  no  time  for  explanation ;  for  the 
door  opened,  and  that  handmaiden  entered,  courtesy- 
ingly  and  simperingly ;  but  still  with  a  look  of  some 
alarm  on  her  features  at  being  so  suddenly  sent  for 
by  the  Colonel,  who,  though  a  kind  and  considerate 
master,  was  a  strict  martinet  in  his  family,  and  the 
whole  corps  domestigue  held  him  in  reverential  awe. 

"  Petchell,  here 's  a  letter  for  you/'  said  he,  abruptly, 
holding  it  out  to  her. 

She  courtesied,  as  she  took  it,  with  a  glance  first  at 
the  letter,  and  then  at  her  young  lady,  and  was  about 
to  leave  the  room. 

"  Stop,  if  you  please,"  said  the  Colonel,  in  an  au 
thoritative  tone ;  "  if  you  have  no  objection,  I  wish 
you  to  open  and  read  the  letter  here.  I  wish  to 
know,  if  it  be  not  a  secret,  how  you  come  to  be  re 
ceiving  letters  from  Mr.  Ferguson,  and  why  they 
should  come  under  cover  to  Mr.  Osborne." 

Eleanor,  on  hearing  this,  gave  me  a  half-reproach 
ful  glance,  which  made  me  fear  that  I  had  made  some 
terrible  blunder,  though  I  could  not  divine  what ;  and 
Petchell  looked  as  if  she  should  like  to  tear  iny  eyes 
out.  However,  there  was  no  help  for  her ;  so  she 
hastened  to  open  the  letter,  with  what  show  of  in 
difference  she  could  muster.  Her  fingers  trembled, 
however,  in  the  agitation  she  obviously  felt;  and, 
before  she  could  prevent  it,  a  letter  dropped  out  of 
her  enclosure,  and  fell  on  the  floor.  Colonel  Allerton, 


IN   WHICH   THE   CALDRON  BEGINS   TO   SIMMER.      175 

with  the  activity  of  six-and-twenty,  instantly  picked 
it  up,  and,  after  glancing  at  the  direction,  said  to 
Petchell,  — 

"This  is  enough.  It  is  all  I  want  of  you  at 
present.  You  may  go  now." 

And  she  went,  apparently  nothing  loath. 

Turning  then  to  Eleanor,  he  said,  handing  her  the 
letter,  "  I  did  not  expect  to  find  you  in  correspond 
ence  with  Ferguson,  I  must  confess.  And  I  am  still 
more  at  a  loss  to  conceive  why  it  should  be  carried 
on  clandestinely.  You  did  not  use  to  be  on  such 
terms  with  him." 

"  It  is  all  on  his  side,  papa,  now,"  said  Eleanor, 
paler  than  ever,  but  evidently  in  strong  perturbation ; 
"  I  assure  you  it  is.  I  have  no  wish  to  be  on  any 
terms  at  all  with  him.  Whatever  communications 
he  has  had  with  me  he  has  intruded  upon  me  against 
my  will." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  replied,  "  that  you  will  still  per 
sist  in  thinking  so  ill  of  him.  But  I  cannot  imagine 
why  he  should  annoy  you,  after  what  has  passed,  as 
you  say  he  has,  and  still  less  why  he  should  take  this 
indirect  way  of  doing  it.  It  is  not  like  him." 

"  Not  like  him !  0  papa  !  "  exclaimed  Eleanor, 
lifting  up  her  hands  with  an  expression  of  impatience 
and  vexation. 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  her  father.  "He  was 
always  open  and  candid  in  his  intercourse  with  us 
at  home  ;  and  we  are  certainly  under  great  obliga 
tions  to  him." 


176  WENSLEY. 

Eleanor  made  a  deprecating  gesture  of  dissent. 

"  Why,"  he  went  on,  "  you  know  he  told  us  of 
the  blundering  -folly  of"  —  he  stopped,  with  a 
glance  at  me,  and  then  went  on  without  mentioning 
any  name  —  "  and  did  his  best  to  counteract  it." 

I  thought  that  it  was  about  time  for  me  to  make  a 
move  to  retire ;  as  this  seemed  to  be  a  scene,  how 
ever  interesting,  which  had  better  have  only  the 
actors  for  audience.  But  Eleanor  went  on  without 
minding  me. 

"Perhaps  we  were  too  hasty  in  believing  him. 
I  thought  better,  or  not  so  ill,  of  him  at  that  time; 
but  I  would  not  have  believed  his  story  then,  had 
it  not  been  made  likely  by  the  circumstances  he 
brought  to  our  knowledge." 

"  Perhaps,  my  dear,"  said  the  Colonel,  very  polite 
ly,  but  a  trifle  provokingly,  "  you  would  have  been 
less  incredulous  had  the  offender  been  any  one 
besides  Mr.  Markham." 

If  blood  was  ever  eloquent,  as  we  are  told  it 
sometimes  is,  that  in  Eleanor's  cheeks  made  a  very 
fine  speech  on  this  occasion,  and  one  that  gave  me 
an  odd  sensation,  which  I  had  never  felt  before,  nor 
have  I  since,  at  least  in  the  same  degree.  She  paused 
a1  moment,  and  then  said,  very  quietly,  — 

"  I  think,  papa,  it  would  have  made  no  difference. 
You  certainly  know  that  it  did  not,  as  it  was." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  love,"  replied  her  father, 
caressing  her  head  with  his  hand.  "  I  was  wrong  in 
saying  what  I  did.  But  you  know  it  provokes  me  to 


IN  WHICH   THE   CALDRON   BEGINS   TO   SIMMER.      177 

have  you  so  unjust  to  Ferguson.  He  could  have 
none  but  friendly  motives  in  coming  to  this  country 
at  this  time ;  for  his  own  affairs  might  have  waited  a 
year  or  two.  But  he  came  now  that  he  might  be  of 
service  possibly  to  us.  And  this  after  what  had 
passed  between  you." 

Eleanor  shook  her  head,  as  if  she  received  none 
of  this  doctrine.  The  Colonel  went  on  :  — 

"  But  how  long  have  you  known  that  he  was  in 
America  ?  Knowing  your  feelings  towards  him,  I 
did  not  think  it  necessary  to  say  anything  about 
it  to  you." 

"  I  imagine,"  she  replied,  "  that  I  knew  of  it 
nearly  as  soon  as  you,  if  not  sooner.  I  have  known 
it  these  six  months." 

"  These  six  months  !  "  exclaimed  her  father ;  "  and 
never  mentioned  it  to  me !  That  is  strange.  But 
have  you  ever  seen  him  ?  " 

"  Only  once,"  she  answered,  looking  at  me.  "  It 
was  the  day  that  I  sent  you  word  of  my  getting 
into  the  river.  I  meant  that  it  should  bring  you 
home ;  and  I  did  intend  to  tell  you  that  it  wras  he 
that  helped  me  out.  But  I  changed  my  mind,  and 
Cousin  Frank  here  had  to  bear  all  the  credit  of  it." 

"I  cannot  conceive  why  you  should  have  con 
cealed  this  from  me,"  he  replied,  in  a  tone  of  some 
displeasure.  "I  am  not  too  proud  to  be  grateful 
for  a  good  office,  if  you  are." 

"  I  could  wTell  have  dispensed  with  the  service," 
she  replied ;  "  for  Cousin  Frank  here  can  tell  you 
12 


178  WENSLEY. 

that  the  danger  was  nothing,  and  that,  if  it  had  been 
anything,  he  was  sufficient  to  the  emergency." 

I  cordially  confirmed  her  statement  in  its  entirety ; 
for  I  well  remembered  wishing  the  fishing-boots  at  a 
considerable  distance,  and  in  a  much  warmer  place 
than  the  Quasheen,  —  though  that  was  not  very  cold 
that  afternoon. 

"  You  see,  sir,"  she  proceeded,  "  that  there  was  no 
great  call  for  gratitude  in  the  case ;  and  I  certainly 
felt  none  whatever." 

"  Eleanor,  Eleanor,"  he  repeated,  "  I  do  not  under 
stand  you.  You  are  a  changed  creature.  I  cannot 
make  you  out  this  morning." 

He  rose  from  the  sofa  where  he  was  sitting  and 
took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the  room.  Then, 
stopping  short  before  her  chair,  he  said,  somewhat 
sternly,  — 

"  And  perhaps  you  intend  to  keep  me  equally  in 
the  dark  as  to  the  nature  of  your  communications 
with  him.  I  suppose  they  must  have  related  to  my 
affairs.  They  were  not  likely  to  have  been  anything 
improper  for  me  to  know,"  with  a  suspicion  of  a 
frown  on  his  brow;  "but  I  do  not  wish  to  intrude 
myself  into  your  confidence,  nor  into  that  of  Mr. 
Ferguson." 

"Dear  papa,"  said  Eleanor,  earnestly,  "do  not  re 
proach  me  so.  What  real  secret  can  I  ever  have 
from  you  ?  I  may  have  done  wrong  in  not  telling 
you  all  about  it  at  once;  but  I  thought  I  was  spar 
ing  you  from  pain,  perhaps  from  danger,  by  saying 


IN  WHICH   THE   CALDRON  BEGINS  TO   SIMMER.      179 

nothing  for  the  present.  Indeed,  I  meant  to  tell  you 
all  in  time." 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear,"  he  answered  kindly,  for, 
though  quick  of  temper,  he  was  the  most  placable 
of  men,  "  I  dare  say  you  can  explain  it  all.  I  have 
never  thought  you  wrong  yet,  and  I  shall  be  slow 
to  begin  now." 

The  explanation  I  understood  to  be  adjourned  only 
till  I  was  out  of  the  way;  and  I  was  accordingly 
about  to  make  another  demonstration  of  departure, 
when  Colonel  Allerton  said,  before  I  could  rise, — 

"But,  Eleanor,  you  have  not  read  yet  the  letter 
of  which  Osborne  here  was  the  courier.  I  dare  say 
it  has  nothing  in  it  which  he  may  not  see.  He 
ought  certainly  to  be  paid  postman's  wages;  and 
perhaps  he  will  be  content  to  take  it  out  in  kind. 
Had  you  not  better  see  what  it  says  ?  " 

Eleanor  looked  up  suddenly  from  the  carpet  at 
which  she  had  been  gazing,  and,  glancing  first  at 
her  father,  and  next  at  me,  and  last  of  all  at  the 
letter,  which  had  lain  in  her  lap  all  this  while,  she 
took  it  up  and  opened  it.  After  running  her  eye 
over  it  she  handed  it  to  her  father,  who  read  it  out, 
to  this  effect :  — 

"  It  is  essential  that  I  should  have  the  interview 
with  you  I  have  so  long  solicited.  It  cannot  be  de 
layed,  and  it  must  be  had.  I  have  that  to  say  which 
is  of  vital  importance  to  you,  and  —  if  it  be  of  greater 
weight  with  you  —  to  your  father.  Time  presses  with 
me ;  and  the  interview  I  solicit  must  be  at  noon  this 


180  WENSLEY. 

day,  or  not  at  all.  I  will  be  at  the  Sachem's  Seat  at 
precisely  twelve.  If  you  object  to  coming  alone,  you 
can  bring  your  maid  with  you,  or  the  lad  (lad  indeed  !) 
1  saw  with  you  when  we  met,  who  I  understand  is 
your  cousin  —  if  he  be  discreet." 

"  I  cannot  conceive,"  said  the  Colonel,  studying 
the  note  closely,  as  if  to  extract  its  hidden  meaning, 
"  what  Ferguson  can  have  to  say  to  you  about  me 
or  yourself  that  he  might  not  just  as  well  certainly 
say  to  me  in  person.  However,  my  dear,  I  should 
not  be  afraid  to  make  you  my  plenipotentiary;  and 
I  think  he  would  not  make  this  request  without 
some  reasonable  motive.  So  you  had  better  get 
your  bonnet,  and  take  Frank's  arm,  since  he  is  per 
mitted  to  share  in  this  mystery,  and  make  haste ; 
for,"  he  added,  looking  at  his  watch,  "  it  wants  but 
a  quarter  to  the  try  sting  hour." 

While  Eleanor  was  gone  for  this  purpose,  he  went 
on  to  me,  "  So  you  have  seen  Mr.  Ferguson,  it  seems." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  answered.  "  I  saw  him  for  a  moment 
on  the  afternoon  when  he  drew  my  cousin  out  of  the 
water,  as  she  has  told  you.  Indeed,"  I  added,  recol 
lecting  myself,  "  I  did  see  him  for  a  literal  moment, 
when  I  was  in  Boston,  on  the  top  of  the  New  York 
coach." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  he  replied ;  "  I  knew  he  had  been  at 
the  South.  I  did  not  know  he  had  returned  until 
this  morning.  Did  not  you  think  him  a  handsome 
young  fellow  ? " 

Handsome  !     I  thought  him  as  ugly  a  monster  as 


IN   WHICH   THE   CALDRON   BEGINS  TO   SIMMER.      181 

I  had  ever  seen.  And  young !  Why,  the  wretch 
could  not  have  been  less  than  five  and  thirty.  But 
seventy  and  nineteen  have  different  eyes  for  such 
things.  I  did  not  trust  myself  to  speak,  and  only 
made  a  bow  oracularly  enigmatical.  He  went  on, 
without  waiting  for  further  answer  :  — 

"You  may  have  inferred  from  what  has  passed  this 
morning  that  there  have  been  some  former  dealings 
between  him  and  us.  Indeed,  I  may  say  to  you  in 
confidence,  as  one  of  the  family  (I  made  a  bow  here 
of  unequivocal  gratitude),  that  he  was  an  old  admirer 
of  hers  (old  enough,  I  parenthesized  to  myself)  in 
England.  Had  she  liked  him,  I  should  have  been 
well  pleased ;  for  I  did.  But,  as  she  did  not,  there 
was  nothing  to  be  said.  She  has  a  rooted  dislike 
to  him,  apparently,  which  I  cannot  understand ;  but, 
right  or  wrong,  it  is  something  to  be  considered  in 
the  matter  of  marriage." 

"  I  must  say,  sir,"  I  put  in,  "that  it  seems  to  me 
that  my  Cousin  Eleanor  is  the  last  person  in  the 
world  to  form  an  unreasonable  prejudice.  She  is 
candor  and  sweetness  personified." 

"  She  is  a  good  girl,  sir,  a  good  girl,"  he  resumed ; 
"  but  the  best  of  them  take  the  bit  between  their 
teeth  sometimes.  And  then  there 's  nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  give  them  their  head.  If  they  're  good 
blood,  they  '11  bring  up  safe  enough  when  they  've 
had  their  fling.  But  here  she  comes ;  and  it  is  high 
time  you  were  off." 

We  accordingly  passed  out  at  what  Lord  Castle- 


182  WENSLEY. 

reagh  might  Lave  called  "  the  back-front "  door, 
which  let  us  out  in  the  direction  of  the  avenue 
celebrated  in  the  last  chapter.  We  paced  again 
down  the  length  of  the  walk,  and  then  left  it  by 
a  path  through  a  belt  of  trees  skirting  round  the 
clearing,  which  connected  it  with  the  aboriginal  for 
est,  or  what  remained  of  it.  At  no  great  distance 
within  the  wood,  but  still  far  enough  to  be  out  of 
the  reach  of  interruption  or  eavesdropping,  was  a 
small  opening,  of  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  acre  in 
extent,  either  natural  or  of  a  very  old  formation,  as 
there  was  no  trace  of  stumps  or  roots  among  the 
short,  soft  grass.  It  was  believed  to  have  been 
made  by  the  Indians;  and  a  large  stone,  which  had 
something  the  look  of  having  been  rudely  shaped 
into  a  sort  of  chair,  was  called  the  Sachem's  Seat. 

Tradition  said  that  this  was  the  sacred  stone  on 
which  the  great  King  Miantowusett,  so  formidable  to 
the  Puritans  before  King  Philip's  days,  used  to  sit 
and  rule  his  tribe.  I  can  only  say  that,  if  he  were  of 
like  passions  with  other  men,  his  majesty  must,  like 
many  another  sovereign,  have  sat  uneasily  upon  his 
throne.  Eleanor  said  nothing  to  me  during  our  walk. 
To  be  sure,  it  was  soon  over;  for  we  walked  fast. 
But  she  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  the  anticipation  of 
what  was  before  her ;  and  the  only  sign  she  gave  of 
being  conscious  of  my  presence  was  the  way  in  which 
she  rather  grasped  than  leaned  on  my  arm,  as  if  it 
were  done  rather  to  steady  her  mind  than  to  support 
her  steps. 


IN   WHICH   THE   CALDRON  BEGINS   TO   SIMMER.      183 

When  we  entered  the  cleared  space  we  found 
Ferguson  walking  up  and  down  its  narrow  diameter, 
holding  his  watch  in  his  hand.  When  he  saw  us  he 
returned  it  to  his  pocket  and  saluted  us,  or  rather 
Eleanor,  with  a  politeness  which  was  rather  punctili 
ous  than  easy.  She  made  as  slight  an  acknowledg 
ment  of  his  bow  as  could  be  and  be  any  at  all;  while 
I  unglued  my  hat  from  my  head  just  as  much 
as  I  thought  my  share  of  his  courtesy  demanded. 
Eleanor  dropped  my  arm,  and  advancing  by  her 
self,  sat  down  upon  the  Seat  of  the  Sachem  as  Portia 
might  have  assumed  the  judgment- seat,  had  it  been 
hers  of  right. 

I  admired  the  spirit  and  grace  of  the  movement, 
while  I  thought  I  understood  its  motive.  She  was 
resolved,  at  at  all  events,  to  have  the  firm  support  of 
this  seat  before  she  suffered  herself  to  be  subjected  to 
the  agitation  or  provocation  of  what  this  man  had  to 
say.  I  dropped  modestly  back  towards  the  alley  by 
which  we  had  come  in,  and  left  the  stage  to  the  two 
performers.  Ferguson  took  a  stride  or  two  more  on 
the  greensward ;  while  Eleanor  said,  as  calmly  and 
coldly  as  if  a  statue  had  spoken,  — 

"  I  am  here,  sir.  What  may  your  pleasure  be  with 
me  ? " 

"  My  pleasure  is,"  said  he,  pausing  in  his  walk  and 
turning  towards  her,  —  "my  pleasure  is  to  do  you 
good,  if  you  will  let  me." 

She  answered  only  by  the  haughtiest  inclination  of 
her  head,  which  spoke  more  of  scorn  than  of  gratitude. 


184  WENSLEY. 

"  You  think,  perhaps,"  he  went  on,  eyeing  her  with 
no  amiable  expression  of  face,  —  "  you  think,  perhaps, 
madam,  that  I  offer  more  than  I  can  perform,  when  I 
say  I  wish  to  do  you  good." 

"  If  I  can  put  any  faith  in  the  letters  with  which 
you  have  annoyed  me  for  so  long,"  she  replied,  "I 
must  suppose  that  you  can  do  me  some  hurt,  though 
you  have  not  been  pleased  as  yet  to  indicate  how  or 
why." 

"  And  if  that  be  true,"  he  returned,  "  even  in  the 
offensive  sense  in  which  you  choose  to  take  my  wish 
to  serve  you,  is  not  the  refraining  from  doing  a  hurt 
sometimes  a  positive  good  ? " 

"  I  did  not  come  here,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  to  enter 
into  any  discussion  with  you,  or  to  hold  any  conver 
sation  not  essential  to  the  business,  whatever  it  may 
be,  which  has  made  you  call  me  to  this  place.  If 
you  have  anything  to  say  to  any  purpose  I  will  listen 
to  you ;  otherwise  I  will  return  as  I  came." 

"Eleanor  —  Miss  Allerton,"  he  went  on,  after  a 
pause,  in  a  softened  tone,  "you  know  that  I  have 
had  but  one  motive  in  following  you  to  America  — 
but  one  in  seeking  you  here.  I  do  not  pretend  to 
the  romantic  folly  of  seeking  your  happiness  apart 
from  mine.  I  hope  to  deserve  my  own  by  securing 
yours.  Is  there  no  service  that  can  purchase  hope  ? 
I  ask  no  more  as  yet." 

"  I  thought,  sir,"  she  replied  with  a  coldness  which 
might  have  frozen  quicksilver,  —  "I  thought,  sir,  that 
all  this  was  at  an  end  long  ago.  If  I  have  ever  done 


IN  WHICH  THE   CALDRON  BEGINS  TO   SIMMER.      185 

anything  to  make  you  think  that  fresh  importunity 
would  make  me  think  better  of  what  I  said  when  we 
parted  in  England,  it  has  been  my  misfortune,  and 
not  my  design.  I  never  give  hopes,  sir,  which  I  do 
not  mean  to  fulfil." 

She  made  a  motion  as  if  about  to  rise  and  retire ; 
but  Ferguson  made  a  restraining  gesture  and  said,  — 

"  You  have,  indeed,  done  nothing  to  give  me  heart ; 
but  perhaps  others  have.  Circumstances  may  have 
happened  which  may  alter  even  your  resolution. 
Your  father  "  — 

"  My  father ! "  she  interrupted.  "  You  do  not  pre 
sume  to  say  that  you  sought  this  interview  with  his 
knowledge  ? " 

"  Oh,  no  indeed,"  he  replied ;  "  he  knows  nothing  of 
it.  I  did  not  choose  he  should  at  present,  or  I  should 
not  have  communicated  secretly  with  you,  as  I  have 
done.  You  know  he  would  have  made  me  welcome 
to  his  house,  if  I  had  seen  fit  to  come  openly." 

She  bowed  an  unwilling  sort  of  assent  and  said, 
"  What  of  him,  then,  sir  ? " 

"  He  is  a  gentleman  of  a  distinguished  position,  of 
an  honorable  name,  of  unblemished  honor,  of  a  large 
estate." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Eleanor,  somewhat  anxiously, 
"  what  of  it  ?  I  believe  none  of  these  things  have 
ever  been  disputed." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  answered,  fixing  his  eye,  which 
was  generally  looking  down,  on  hers,  as  if  by  an 
effort.  "Certainly  not.  But  you  know  that  there 


186  WEXSLEY. 

have  been  men  as  happy  as  he  in  all  these  particulars 
who  have  lost  them  all." 

"No  doubt  there  have  been  many,"  said  Eleanor, 
suppressing  an  intense  interest  as  well  as  she  might. 
"  But  what  is  that  to  me  or  to  my  father  ?  " 

"Suppose  his  entire  estate  in  England  were  lost 
and  confiscated." 

"Well!"  said  Eleanor,  growing  almost  breathless 
as  he  proceeded. 

"  Suppose  his  honor  were  blasted,  his  place  among 
men  obliterated,  and  his  name  infamous." 

"Well!" 

"  Suppose  him  condemned  to  drag  out  his  life  in 
poverty  and  disgrace,  an  exile  from  his  country,  from 
which  he  is  shut  out  by  the  absolute  certainty,  if  he 
returned,  of  dying  the  death  of  a  forger  ?  " 

"  Well !  "  in  a  low  voice,  and  pale  as  ashes. 

"  And  then  suppose  one,  who  can  bring  all  this 
down  upon  the  father,  lays  his  power  at  the  daugh 
ter's  feet,  and  seeks,  as  his  chiefest  good,  to  identify 
himself  with  the  life,  honor,  and  prosperity  of  the 
one,  and  to  devote  himself  to  the  happiness  of  the 
other." 

"  And  this  was  what  you  have  been  hinting  to  me 
through  the  letters  you  have  forced  upon  me,"  said 
Eleanor,  her  color  returning,  and  her  eyes  kindling 
with  some  strong  emotion  or  other. 

"  Precisely  this,"  he  answered  ;  "  though  I  was  not 
prepared  till  now  —  I  did  not  see  fit  —  to  tell  you 
the  exact  truth." 


IN  WHICH   THE   CALDRON   BEGINS   TO    SIMMER.      187 

"  The  exact  truth  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  the 
most  derisive  unbelief.  "  Had  you  told  me  all  this 
at  first,  you  would  have  spared  me  some  anxious  fears 
which  your  black  suggestions  conjured  up.  I  thank 
you  for  relieving  me  of  them  all." 

And  she  rose  with  a  deal  of  scorn,  looking  beautiful 
"  in  the  contempt  and  anger  of  her  lip/'  and  was  mov 
ing  towards  me,  when  Ferguson  laid  a  detaining  hand 
upon  her  arm,  which  she  shook  off  as  if  it  had  been 
some  crawling  reptile. 

"  Stay  a  moment,"  said  he.  "  I  do  not  blame  you 
for  rejecting  what  I  say  at  the  first  hearing.  It  would 
be  strange  indeed  if  you  did  not.  But  do  you  sup 
pose  I  would  commit  myself  in  this  way  if  I  had  not 
facts  and  evidence  behind  me  ?  I  do  not  ask  for  my 
reward  till  I  have  established  my  claim  by  indispu 
table  proof  of  the  service." 

"  Service !  reward  !  facts  ! "  ejaculated  Eleanor,  as  if 
she  could  not  quite  put  her  thoughts  in  order.  But 
presently  she  said,  very  collectedly,  "  And  I  can  pur 
chase  exemption  for  myself  and  for  my  father  from 
all  this  misery  by  taking  you  as  my  —  husband  ? " 

"  Not  purchase  exemption,"  he  replied ;  "  but  re 
ward  fidelity  and  devoted  service." 

"  Fidelity ! "  she  exclaimed,  starting  up  from  the 
stone  on  which  she  had  seated  herself  again.  "  And 
if  I  reject  your  offer,  you  will  let  it  loose  upon  our 
heads  ?  Am  I  to  understand  that  to  be  the  alterna 
tive  ? " 

"  I  believe  it  to  be  inevitable  as  death,"  said  he  in 


188  WENSLEY. 

reply.  "  Your  fate  and  your  father's  is  in  your  hands. 
It  lies  with  you  to  decide  whether  it  shall  be  life  or 
death,  honor  or  infamy.  And  you  must  decide  at 
once." 

"  It  will  not  take  me  long,"  said  she,  her  eyes  flash 
ing,  and  her  voice  tremulous  with  anger.  "  I  give  no 
credence  to  what  you  say.  I  believe  you  capable  of 
any  villany,  of  contriving  any  plot,  to  compass  any 
end  you  have  in  view.  But  do  you  suppose  I  will 
believe  my  father  capable  of  what  you  charge  him 
with  ?  And  even  were  he  "  — 

"  Had  you  not  better  wait,"  interrupted  Ferguson, 
"  until  you  know,  whether  capable  of  it  or  not,  what 
the  case  against  him  is  ? " 

"  The  case  ! "  she  exclaimed,  stamping  her  little 
foot.  "I  care  nothing  for  your  case!  You  have 
proved  yourself  a  villain  by  the  proposal  you  have 
made  me  ;  and  I  am  sure  my  father  would  sooner  die 
on  —  as  you  say,  than  suffer  me  to  purchase  his  life 
so  infamously." 

He  looked  as  black  as  midnight,  and  scowled  at 
her  as  he  said  between  his  teeth,  "You  reject  my 
offer,  then  ? " 

"  Eeject  it !  "  she  said,  with  a  look  of  utter  loath 
ing.  "  I  spurn  it !  I  trample  on  it !  I  spit  upon  it!" 

"  Then  take  the  consequences  ! "  he  said  struggling 
against  a  furious  passion.  "  The  ruin  of  your  father, 
which  you  might  have  prevented,  be  on  your  head ! 
And  perhaps,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  in  a  quieter 
tone,  but  one  steeped  in  malignity,  —  "perhaps  the 


IN   WHICH   THE   CALDRON   BEGINS   TO   SIMMER.      189 

world  will  believe  other  rumors  touching  other  per 
sons.  I  have  helped  suppress  them.  Perhaps  it  will 
be  impossible  any  longer.  Mr.  Markham  has  been 
seen  in  this  neighborhood,  I  believe." 

Eleanor  blushed  deeply  with  just  anger  at  this 
insolence  ;  and  I  stepped  forward  and  said,  — 

"  Sir,  I  accompanied  this  young  lady  hither  by  her 
request  and  for  her  protection.  You  will  repeat  your 
impertinence  at  your  peril !  " 

"  At  my  peril,  you  monkey  ! "  he  thundered  out  in  a 
towering  passion,  which  he  was  glad  to  vent  upon 
somebody ;  and  he  advanced  upon  me  with  uplifted 
hand.  I  was  but  a  mouthful  to  him;  but  I  hap 
pened  to  take  up,  mechanically,  as  I  came  out  with 
Eleanor,  the  cane  which  I  usually  carried.  It  had  a 
blade  in  it,  as  college  canes  were  very  apt,  foolishly 
enough,  to  have  in  those  days.  I  drew  it  in  an  in 
stant,  and  shortening  it  as  he  approached,  exclaimed, 

"  Lay  a  finger  upon  me,  sir,  and  by ,  it  will  be 

the  last  mischief  you  will  do  !  " 

Perhaps  my  eye  was  a  little  wicked ;  but  at  all 
events,  he  stayed  his  hand  a  moment,  while  Eleanor 
screamed  aloud  and  was  rushing  between  us,  when 
we  were  all  brought  to  our  bearings  by  a  quick  rus 
tling  among  the  branches  behind  me,  instantly  fol- 
owed  by  Colonel  Allertori's  voice  of  command. 

"  What 's  this  ? "  he  said  sternly  to  me.  "  Put  up 
that  gimcrack,  sir.  What  in  God's  name  is  the  mean 
ing  of  this  disturbance  ? " —  looking  first  at  one  and 
then  at  the  other. 


190  WENSLEY. 

"  It  means,  sir,"  said  I,  "  as  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
that  that  rascal  there  (perhaps  the  noun  was  qualified 
by  an  expletive  '  now  better  far  removed ')  insulted 
Miss  Allerton,  and  when  I  interfered  he  offered  to 
strike  me ;  and  I  was  only  giving  him  to  understand 
that  he  would  n't  do  it  more  than  once." 

"  Ferguson  !  Eleanor  ! "  he  said,  in  a  great  amaze 
ment.  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Eleanor,  is 
it  true  that  he  insulted  you  ?  Frank  must  be  beside 
himself." 

"  Insulted  me  !  Yes,  indeed,  sir,"  said  she,  "  and 
you  too." 

"  Me  ?  Impossible  S"  cried  the  father.  "  In  what 
way,  pray  ? " 

"  Miss  Eleanor,"  Ferguson  put  in,  as  if  to  give  her 
time  to  reflect  and  withhold  her  communication,  "  re 
gards  the  renewal  of  my  unfortunate  addresses  as  an 
insult  to  her  and  you.  But  I  hope,  sir,  you  may  not 
regard  it  so  seriously  when  you  know  my  motives  for 
my  presumption." 

"  Don't  believe  him,  papa !  "  cried  Eleanor.  "  He 
is  a  liar,  and  the  truth  is  not  in  him.  What  do  you 
think,"  she  continued,  going  up  to  him,  and  resting 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  looking  up  into  his  face, 
—  "what  do  you  think  this  wretch  has  been  saying 
about  you  ?  —  that  you  had  committed  some  horrid 
crime,  —  forgery,  I  believe,  —  and  that  it  depends  on 
him  to  save  you  or  to  "  —  and  she  burst  into  tears 
on  his  shoulder. 

"Yes,"  said  I;   "and  the  price  of  his  silence,  of 


IN  WHICH   THE   CALDRON   BEGINS  TO   SIMMER.      191 

your  life,  I  believe,  was  to  be  Eleanor's  hand  in 
marriage." 

"  Ferguson,  are  you  mad  ? "  said  Colonel  Allerton 
to  him.  "  Can  you  have  said  these  things  ? " 

"  Mad  !  "  cried  Ferguson,  who  did  seem  nearly  be 
side  himself  with  rage  and  disappointment.  "  Mad 
indeed  !  Well  for  you  if  I  were  !  Can  I  have  said 
these  things  ?  I  have  said  them,  and  they  are  TRUE!" 

"  True  !  "  exclaimed  the  Colonel.  "  Mr.  Ferguson, 
you  know  such  charges  as  these  must  be  brought  to  a 
strict  account." 

"  Strict  enough,  sir/'  replied  Ferguson  with  a  dev 
ilish  sneer:  "you  may  be  assured  of  that.  But  it 
must  be  by  twelve  men,  and  not  by  twelve  paces. 
Satisfaction,  sir,  is  the  due  of  a  gentleman,  and  not  a 
FELON." 

"  Scoundrel ! "  cried  the  Colonel ;  and,  shaking  off 
Eleanor,  he  snatched  my  blade,  still  unsheathed,  and 
made  a  step  towards  the  other.  Eleanor  clung  again 
to  his  arm,  and  I  stepped  between  them ;  while  Fer 
guson  said,  laughing  loudly,  — 

"  Come  on,  by  all  means,  sir.  Add  murder  to  your 
other  crimes.  A  man  can  be  hanged  but  once !  " 

"  Tush  !  "  cried  Colonel  Allerton,  tossing  down  his 
weapon.  —  "I  meant  nothing,  Eleanor,  my  girl.  It 
was  an  involuntary  movement.  Let  the  rascal  go. 
I  would  n't  touch  him." 

"  I  humbly  thank  you,  sir,"  cried  Ferguson,  taking 
off  his  hat,  and  making  a  mock  bow  to  the  party,  with 
eyes  full  of  hatred  and  malice ;  "  and,  since  I  have 


192  WENSLEY. 

your  gracious  permission,  I  will  go,  as  I  have  business 
elsewhere.     Good-morning." 

And,  turning  round,  he  stooped  under  the  branches 
of  the  trees  in  the  side  opposite  to  the  entrance  on 
our  side,  and  disappeared.  As  we  stood  looking  after 
him,  we  could  hear  him  crashing  his  way  through  the 
undergrowth  and  the  interlacing  boughs  of  the  forest. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IN   WHICH  WILL   BE   FOUND   WHAT   CAME  NEXT. 

T  T  7E  stood  in  silence  for  a  moment  after  Ferguson 
*  *  disappeared  under  the  branches.  I  scarcely 
knew  which  way  to  look ;  but,  without  knowing  it,  I 
found  myself  glancing  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  at 
Eleanor,  who  had  remained  standing  during  all  the 
last  part  of  this  singular  scene.  She  stood  gazing 
earnestly  at  her  father,  whose  eyes  were  not  yet  with 
drawn  from  the  place  where  Ferguson  had  vanished, 
with  an  expression  upon  his  face  in  which  a  towering 
passion  seemed  to  contend  with  an  extreme  astonish 
ment.  Presently,  however,  as  if  controlling  himself 
by  a  strong  effort,  he  turned  to  Eleanor,  and  taking 
her  arm  under  his,  without  saying  anything,  hastily 
proceeded  to  the  avenue,  and  thus  on  to  the  house. 
I  followed  at  a  proper  distance,  so  that  they  might 
have  spoken  together,  had  they  chosen  to  do  so,  with 
out  fear  of  being  overheard  by  me.  But  they  made 
no  use  of  the  opportunity,  both  appearing  to  be  ab 
sorbed  in  their  own  thoughts  ;  or,  rather,  the  father 
seemed  plunged  in  a  moody  cloud  of  meditation,  while 
the  daughter  was  anxiously  considering  him  and  his 
conditions.  Though  she  stepped  firmly,  and  kept  pace 
13 


194  WEXSLEY. 

with  her  father  in  his  hurried  walk,  I  could  see  that 
her  arm  trembled  upon  his,  and  that  she  was  trying, 
as  she  had  opportunity,  to  get  an  unsuspected  glance 
at  his  face. 

That  I  felt  a  profound  curiosity,  as  well  as  interest, 
about  what  I  had  seen,  need  not  be  said ;  though  I 
could  not  help  feeling  that  my  presence,  although 
fairly  and  honestly  brought  about,  might  be  intru 
sive  and  unwelcome.  So  I  was  meditating  a  sudden 
and  secret  retreat  as  soon  as  we  approached  the 
house,  thinking,  that,  as  my  room  might  be  better 
than  my  company,  it  was  very  likely  my  compan 
ions  would  not  notice  my  sudden  substitution  of  the 
one  for  the  other.  Just  as  they  entered  the  house, 
however,  through  which  it  was  necessary  for  me  to 
pass  to  make  a  dignified  retreat,  Eleanor  said  a  few 
words  to  her  father,  with  a  glance  at  me  over  her 
shoulder.  I  pretended  to  drop  my  cane,  and  lingered 
behind  so  as  to  leave  them  free  to  say  what  they 
liked  about  me ;  when  Colonel  Allerton  stopped,  and, 
turning  round  to  me,  said, — 

"  Frank,  step  into  my  room,  if  you  can  spare  the 
time.  I  should  like  to  have  your  advice  in  a  matter 
of  some  importance." 

I  felt  greatly  flattered,  of  course,  and  looked  on 
myself  as  promoted  to  be  a  middle-aged  man  at  a 
jump,  or  at  least  as  having  received  the  brevet 
rank  of  five  and  twenty.  I  passed  on  through  the 
hall,  and  went  into  the  library,  the  father  and  daugh 
ter  remaining  in  conference  near  the  hall-door,  while 


IN    WHICH   WILL   BE   FOUND   WHAT   CAME   NEXT.      195 

I  seated  myself  before  the  fire  that  was  never  quenched, 
and  gazed  up  at  the  white  wig,  rubicund  face,  and 
wild,  protuberant  eyes  of  his  late  Majesty,  who  re 
turned  my  look  with  a  half-frantic  expression  not 
altogether  out  of  keeping  with  the  queer  doings  of 
the  last  hour.  Presently  I  heard  Eleanor's  step  as 
cending  the  stairs,  and  immediately  afterwards  that 
of  her  father  approaching  the  door  of  the  library.  I 
rose  as  he  entered ;  but  he  made  me  a  sign  to  take 
my  seat  again,  and  then  walked  two  or  three  times 
up  and  down  the  room  in  silent  thought.  Then  seat 
ing  himself  on  the  sofa,  which  made  an  angle  of 
some  sort  (I  never  was  much  of  a  mathematician) 
with  the  fireplace,  he  turned  to  me  with  the  cordial, 
confiding  air  which  marked  his  manner,  whatever 
might  have  been  the  reserve  it  covered,  if  Mr.  Bulk- 
ley's  theory  was  right,  and  began,  — 

"  Well,  Frank,  you  will  have  a  lively  scene  to 
describe  in  your  next  letter  to  the  Deipnosophoi. 
Quite  a  godsend  to  your  journal,  by  Jove !  \rou 
could  hardly  have  hoped  for  anything  so  animating 
in  such  an  out-of-the-way  corner  of  the  world  as  this. 
I  am  sure  I  little  thought  what  was  coming  when  I 
walked  down  the  avenue  to  meet  you  as  you  came 
back,  and  to  make  Ferguson  come  along  with  you." 

"  I  will  not  deny,  sir,"  I  replied,  "  that  I  have 
been  deeply  interested  in  what  I  have  seen  this  morn 
ing,  and  in  what  has  come  under  my  notice  before  as 
to  this  Mr.  Ferguson,  if  that  be  his  name  ;  but  I  beg 
to  assure  you  that  nothing  I  have  seen  or  heard  will 


196  WENSLEY. 

ever  be  told  to  any  living  soul,  unless  it  be  the  wish 
of  my  Cousin  Eleanor  and  yourself  that  the  facts  I 
have  been  witness  to  should  be  truly  stated  at  some 
future  time." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you  ! "  he  answered.  "I  believe 
you  to  be  a  discreet  lad.  And  perhaps  it  may  be  as 
well  not  to  make  this  adventure  a  topic  of  gossip  just 
yet.  It  is  quite  likely  it  may  become  such,  however  ; 
and  in  such  case  I  am  quite  willing  to  leave  your  tes 
timony  in  your  own  keeping,  to  be  used  or  withheld 
at  your  own  discretion.  And  I  am  sure  Eleanor  would 
feel  the  same.  She  has  a  high  opinion  of  you,  Frank, 
my  boy ;  though  the  little  accident  by  which  you 
were  brought  into  Parson  Bulkley's  keeping  did  not 
argue  vehemently  in  favor  of  your  prudence  and 
steadiness  of  character  at  first." 

I  blushed  to  the  very  soles  of  my  boots  to  hear 
this  opinion  of  Eleanor  in  my  favor ;  though,  had  I 
known  as  much  as  I  do  now,  (the  more 's  the  pity !)  I 
should  have  known  that  prudence  and  discretion  are 
not  always  the  best  recommendations  of  a  man  to  a 
woman.  Luckily  for  me,  however,  these  virtues  have 
not  always  been  so  inconveniently  preponderant  as  to 
stand  materially  in  my  way. 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  my  Cousin  Eleanor  and 
to  you,  sir,"  I  said,  half  laughing,  at  the  conclusion 
of  his  speech,  "  for  your  good  opinion  of  me.  I  am 
sure  that  I  shall  always  look  on  the  accident  you 
speak  of  as  one  of  the  luckiest  things  that  ever  could 
happen  to  me ;  as,  without  it,  I  should  have  never 


IN  WHICH  WILL   BE   FOUND   WHAT   CAME   NEXT.      197 

known  you,  or  her,  or  Mr.  Bulkley.  I  do  not  pretend 
to  be  wise  above  my  fellows ;  but  I  have  sense  enough 
to  know  the  value  of  such  friends  as  you  all  have 
shown  yourselves." 

"  I  thank  you  for  our  share  of  the  compliment," 
said  the  Colonel,  "and  the  rather,  considering  the 
character  which  you  have  just  heard  an  older  ac 
quaintance  than  yourself  bestow  upon  me,  and  the 
fate  he  was  obliging  enough  to  suggest  as  my  due." 

"  His  may  be  an  older  acquaintanceship  than  mine, 
sir,"  I  replied  ;  "  but  I  know  that  mine  is  the  better 
of  the  two  ;  for  it  is  enough  to  make  me  laugh  at 
any  such  ebullition  of  spleen  as  that." 

"  I  was  taken  by  surprise  this  morning,  myself," 
he  resumed,  "  and  was  nearly  as  much  astonished  as 
you  could  have  been  at  what  Ferguson  said.  I  have 
always  thought  well  of  him,  and,  had  Eleanor  fancied 
him,  I  should  have  been  very  well  content  to  have 
had  it  a  match.  But  she  seems  to  have  known  him 
better  than  I  did.  By  Jove  !  these  women  have  an 
instinct  which  is  a  surer  protection  to  them  than 
the  knowledge  of  the  world  we  men  brag  so  much 
of." 

"  She  certainly  had  an  escape,  sir,"  I  interpolated, 
as  he  paused  ;  "  for  he  must  be  a  precious  scoundrel, 
besides  having  a  devil  of  a  temper." 

"  You  are  right  undoubtedly,"  he  went  on  ;  "  though 
I  was  not  clear-sighted  enough  to  read  him  so.  I 
thought  him  a  sincere  friend  in  the  vexation  in  which 
I  was  involved  through  your  friend  Markham's  etour- 


198  WKNSLEY. 

derie  ;  and  I  liked  him  all  the  better  for  it,  because  he 
was  a  rejected  admirer  of  Eleanor's.  But  no  doubt, 
as  I  always  supposed  indeed,  he  hoped  thus  to  rec 
ommend  himself  to  her." 

He  paused,  and,  as  I  knew  nothing  of  the  circum 
stances  of  which  he  spoke,  I  had  nothing  to  say, 
excepting  a  confused  observation  to  the  effect  that  he 
would  have  been  a  fool,  as  well  as  a  rogue,  if  he  had 
failed  to  do  his  endeavor  in  such  a  cause.  But  the 
Colonel  did  not  heed  what  I  stammered  out,  but  went 
on  as  if  no  break  had  taken  place  in  the  chain  of  his 
ideas. 

"  However  that  may  be,"  he  continued,  "  there  is  no 
doubt  now  as  to  his  villany  ;  and  I  only  wish  that  I 
knew  the  extent  of  it.  Angry  as  he  was,  and  carried 
by  his  passion  beyond  his  self-control,  he  bad  some 
meaning  in  what  he  said.  It  was  '  miching  malicho,' 
as  Hamlet  says,  and  meant  mischief.  I  dare  say  he 
would  give  his  ears  (I  wish  to  God  they  were  nailed 
to  the  pillory,  as  they  deserve  to  be  ! )  that  he  had 
kept  his  tongue  between  his  teeth.  But,  as  he  was 
surprised  out  of  what  he  did  not  mean  to  say,  I  must 
make  my  advantage  of  it.  And  the  first  thing  I  must 
do  is  to  get  back  to  England  as  soon  as  I  can  to 
confront  his  charges  ;  for  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  is 
already  on  his  way  thither  to  make  them,  whatever 
they  may  be." 

"  To  England,  dear  papa  ! "  said  Eleanor,  who 
entered  by  the  door  behind  him  as  he  was  uttering 
the  last  sentence ;  and  she  laid  her  hand  caressingly 


IN   WHICH  WILL   BE   FOUND   WHAT   CAME   NEXT.      199 

on  his  shoulder.  "  To  England  !  And  why  to  Eng 
land  ? " 

"  Because,  my  love,"  he  replied,  taking  her  hand  in 
his  as  he  spoke,  — "  because  it  is  there  I  must  be 
hanged,  if  Mr.  Ferguson  be  a  true  prophet.  I  really 
don't  recollect  having  done  anything  worthy  of  death 
since  I  came  to  America.  Ferguson  is  not  a  fool ; 
and  he  did  not  talk  in  the  way  he  did,  though  he  was 
in  a  passion,  without  some  vicious  meaning  or  other. 
He  has  some  design,  and  it  must  be  put  into  execution 
in  England ;  and  there  I  must  be  to  counteract  it." 

She  passed  round  the  corner  of  the  sofa  where  he 
sat,  still  holding  his  hand,  and  seated  herself  by  his 
side. 

"  No,  no,  dear  papa ! "  she  said,  in  a  voice  full  of 
tender  emotion:  "do  not  put  yourself  within  the 
reach  of  that  villain.  You  do  not  know  his  ability  in 
wickedness.  You  will  find  it  more  than  a  match 
for  your  innocence  and  the  simple  honesty  of  your 
way  of  dealing.  Pray,  do  not  go  !  Stay  here  with 
me!" 

"  What !  my  dear,"  he  said  to  her  half  reproachfully, 
but  all  tenderly,  "  you  surely  would  not  have  me  stay 
here,  and  admit  by  default  whatever  slanders  he  may 
have  concocted  ?  That  is  not  like  my  Eleanor.  For 
my  own  part,  I  had  rather  mount  the  drop  at  Newgate 
next  Monday  morning  than  live  under  such  an  im 
putation.  I  will  at  least  show  my  own  confidence 
in  my  innocence,  whatever  happens.  But  you  shall 
remain  here  until  the  whole  thing  is  settled." 


200  WENSLEY. 

"I  remain  here!"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  filling 
with  tears,  which  she  hastily  brushed  off  her  long 
lashes  before  they  fell,  —  "I  remain  here,  papa,  while 
you  go  to  difficulty,  if  not  to  danger !  That  \vould  be 
like  ine,  indeed !  You  know  that  I  was  not  thinking 
of  myself.  But  I  have  a  dread  of  this  man's  power 
of  mischief  which  I  cannot  help.  He  has  haunted 
me  for  more  than  two  years ;  and  I  am  afraid  of 
him,  I  confess.  If  we  are  beyond  his  reach  here,  for 
God's  sake,  sir,  let  us  stay  here  till  he  is  out  of  our 
way." 

"  For  more  than  two  years,  Eleanor !  "  said  her 
father  in  a  tone  of  surprise.  "  What  do  you  mean, 
my  dear  ?  How  comes  it  that  I  have  never  heard  of 
this  before  ? " 

Eleanor  blushed  deeply,  and,  looking  divinely 
downwards,  said,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  I  could 
not  tell  you,  papa  :  indeed  I  could  not.  I  could  not 
trust  you  ;  for  the  man  "  —  She  paused  a  moment, 
and  then  added,  as  if  witli  pain  and  difficulty,  "  The 
man  insulted  me.  And  "  — 

"  Insulted  you  ! "  exclaimed  her  father,  starting  up, 
with  a  deeper  imprecation  than  I  had  ever  heard  come 
from  his  polished  lips.  "  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  of 
this  on  the  instant  ?  But  it  is  not  too  late  to  overtake 
him  yet."  And  he  had  his  hand  upon  the  bell-pull, 
when  Eleanor  seized  his  arm,  exclaiming,  — 

"  Dearest  papa,  this  man  is  not  worth  your  anger  : 
he  is  beneath  your  resentment.  What,  what,  are  you 
going  to  do  ? " 


IN   WHICH   WILL   BE   FOUND   WHAT   CAME   NEXT.      201 

"  Do  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  am  going  to  order  my 
horse  and  be  after  him.  I  can  be  in  Boston  as  soon 
as  he." 

"  And  what  then,  papa  ? "  Eleanor  persisted,  still 
holding  on  to  his  arm. 

"  Leave  that  to  me,  my  dear.  T  will  find  a  way  to 
chastise  him  for  his  insolence.  Have  no  fears  on  that 
score,"  said  the  veteran ;  and  he  glanced  significantly 
at  me. 

"  Ah,  dear  papa ! "  expostulated  Eleanor,  in  a  tone 
that  might  have  disarmed  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger  him 
self,  "  surely  you  would  not  put  your  life  on  a  level 
with  that  wretch's,  if  that  is  what  you  mean ;  for 
you  can  hardly  hope  to  inflict  any  chastisement  in 
any  other  way.  And  now  you  wonder  that  I  did 
not  tell  you  all  this  two  years  ago.  You  have  a 
pretty  way,  have  n't  you,  of  coaxing  my  confidence  ? 
Come,  now,  sit  down  by  me  again,  arfd  ask  Cousin 
Frank  there,  if  he  does  not  think  you  a  choleric, 
testy,  foolish  old  gentleman." 

Bluebeard  could  not  have  withstood  such  entrea 
ties  and  the  blandishments  that  accompanied  them  ; 
and  Colonel  Allerton  did  sit  clown  again,  evidently 
growing  cooler  and  cooler,  and  said,  "  Well,  and  what 
does  Cousin  Frank  think  on  the  subject  ? " 

"  I  think,  sir,"  I  replied,  "  that  you  do  well  to  be 
angry  for  such  a  cause  ;  and  I  can  find  no  fault  with 
your  wish  for  satisfaction,  if  it  were  a  case  in  which 
it  could  be  had.  But,  putting  aside  the  question  of 
whether  this  man  is  entitled  to  be  treated  like  a  gen- 


202  WENSLEY 

tleman,  I  suppose  he  could  use  this  accusation,  what 
ever  it  is,  as  lie  has  already  suggested  this  morning, 
as  a  reason  for  refusing  to  meet  you,  if  he  chose. 
And  besides,  sir,  you  \vill  remember  this  is  not  Old 
England  ;  and  the  ordeal  by  combat  is  not  one  our 
Puritan  notions  accord  with." 

"Very  true,  very  true,  Frank,"  he  said,  quite 
calmed  down  again.  "  I  was  an  old  fool  to  have 
thought  of  such  a  thing.  And  then  he  might  say 
that  I  wanted  to  rid  myself  of  my  accuser  in  this 
extra-judicial  way.  So  go  on,  my  love,  and  tell  mo 
how  he  has  continued  to  annoy  you  since "  — 
And  his  eyes  flashed  again,  and  his  hand  clinched, 
at  the  thought  he  did  not  utter. 

"  He  hinted  to  me  before  we  left  England,"  she 
resumed,  "  substantially  what  he  said  to-day,  —  that 
he  had  your  honor,  if  not  your  life,  in  his  hands. 
And  he  made  me  believe  that  he  actually  prevented 
your  arrest,  when  we  were  on  the  eve  of  sailing,  by 
putting  the  officers  on  a  wrong  scent." 

"  And  why  did  you  not  tell  me  all  this,  my  child  ? " 
said  her  father. 

"  Perhaps  I  was  wrong,  papa,"  she  answered ;  "  but 
I  did  what  seemed  to  me  for  the  best.  I  knew  you 
well  enough  to  know  that  nothing  would  prevent  you 
from  staying,  and  facing  any  hazard  if  you  knew  of  it ; 
and  I  was  weak  enough  to  wish  you  safe  on  this  side 
the  water.  I  knew  that  the  perplexity  into  which 
Mr.  Markham's  imprudence  had  thrown  you  was 
capable  of  being  put  into  a  bad  shape  ;  and  I  was 


IN  WHICH   WILL  BE   FOUND   WHAT   CAME   NEXT.      203 

sure  that  this  man  was  capable  of  twisting  it  into 
any  shape  that  suited  him  best.  So  I  let  things 
take  their  course.  But,  if  I  have  done  wrong,  I 
have  been  fully  punished  ;  for  I  have  suffered  tor 
tures  of  mind  the  last  two  years."  And  she  closed 
her  eyes,  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her  forehead,  as  if 
in  severe  bodily  pain. 

"  My  poor  Eleanor,"  said  her  father,  tenderly  tak 
ing  her  hand,  "you  would  have  done  better  to  have 
told  me  all  this.  I  could  have  convinced  you  that 
his  assertion  about  the  arrest  must  have  been  a  lie, 
and  that  so  his  others  most  likely  were." 

"  Could  you,  indeed,  sir  ?  "  said  Eleanor.  "  He 
told  it  to  me  connected  with  so  many  circumstances 
which  I  knew  to  be  true,  and  actually  pointing  out 
the  officer,  that  I  thought  that  was  certain,  if  nothing 
else." 

"  Had  you  been  acquainted  witli  affairs,  my  dear," 
he  returned,  "  you  would  have  known  that  an  arrest 
of  such  a  character  could  not  be  initiated  without  a 
degree  of  notoriety  which  would  have  followed  us 
here,  and  that  the  subsequent  legal  measures  could 
not  be  done  in  a  corner.  But  no  matter  for  that 
now.  Let  me  know  what  you  have  had  to  do  with 
Ferguson  since  then." 

"He  wrote  to  me  several  times  from  England, 
proposing  to  renew  his  addresses  to  me,  and  on 
that  condition  to  hush  up  the  'ugly  business/  as  he 
called  it. — The  next  time  I  knew  anything  of  him 
was  when  we  saw  him  together  at  the  river,"  she 


UN  IV.:: 


204  WENSLEY. 

said,  addressing  herself  to  me.  And  then,  after  briefly 
reciting  the  adventure  to  her  father,  she  proceeded, 
"One  other  letter,  under  cover  to  Petchell  (as,  in 
deed,  all  his  letters  were  sent),  came  while  Cousin 
Frank  was  in  Boston.  It  was  postmarked  '  Wash 
ington.'  But  I  was  on  the  lookout  for  this  ;  and  as 
soon  as  it  arrived,  without  opening  the  outer  sheet, 
I  sent  it  back  to  him  at  Boston,  where  I  knew  he 
would  be  before  leaving  the  country." 

"And  that  was  the  reason,  no  doubt,"  said  her 
father,  "  why  he  enclosed  the  letter  of  this  morning 
to  Frank  here.  He  thought  it  would  be  more  sure 
of  being  opened,  if  it  came  through  him  ;  though,  to 
be  sure,  it  might  have  met  with  no  better  luck  than 
its  precursors,  had  it  not  been  for  Frank  and  me." 

"  It  certainly  would  not,"  she  replied.  "  But  I 
am  very  glad  now  it  happened  so,  though  I  was 
not  very  well  pleased  with  it  at  first,  as  you  may 
have  surmised,"  turning  to  me  (she  was  quite  right 
—  I  had  so) ;  "  for  I  am  now  rid  of  the  first  secret  I 
ever  kept  from  you,  papa  ;  and  it  shall  be  the  last,  I 
promise  you." 

And  she  put  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  kissed 
him  twice.  Great  Heavens !  why  was  not  I  sixty- 
five  years  old  and  a  papa  ?  Sir  Walter  Scott  some 
where  feelingly  complains  of  the  affliction  caused  "  to 
us  male  creatures  "  by  the  sight  of  the  caresses  which 
the  ladies  are  so  fond  of  wasting  in  such  unnecessary 
profusion  upon  one  another.  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is 
any  better  to  see  them  thrown  away  upon  heavy 


IN   WHICH   WILL   BE   FOUND   WHAT   CAME   NEXT.      205 

fathers  and  stupid  brothers.  However,  it  is  a  part 
of  the  discipline  of  this  mortal  life ;  and  I  had  to 
submit  to  it  in  this  instance,  as  in  a  many  since. 
Colonel  Allerton  presently  resumed  :  — 

"  But  still,  darling,  I  am  not  clear  that  I  ought 
not  to  return  to  England  to  show  that  I  am  not 
keeping  out  of  the  way  of  his  accusations.  What 
think  you,  Frank  ?  " 

Eleanor  gave  me  an  imploring  look;  and,  as  I 
certainly  had  no  wish  to  give  an  answer  that  should 
send  them  out  of  the  country,  I  replied, — 

"  I  cannot  give  you  any  opinion,  sir,  on  the  subject. 
I  do  not  know  enough  about  it  to  have  formed  one." 

"  Is  that  so  ? "  he  replied.  "  I  have  been  talking 
to  you  all  this  while  under  the  belief  that  Eleanor 
had  made  you  her  confidant,  and  told  you  all  about 
our  affairs." 

I  assured  him  that  I  had  not  been  thus  happy. 
And  Eleanor,  while  she  confirmed  my  statement,  was 
good  enough  to  say  that  she  had  determined  to  do  so 
at  the  very  first  opportunity  that  offered  itself. 

"  I  did  so  long  for  a  friend  to  talk  with  about  these 
things,  which  I  could  not  tell  whether  I  ought  to 
keep  to  myself  or  not !  I  was  so  in  want  of  advice 
and  comfort ! "  she  said,  and  sighed. 

Oh,  why  had  she  not  yielded  to  this  impulse  ?  I 
do  not  know  how  I  might  have  answered  as  a  friend 
and  comforter,  but  I  am  sure  I  should  have  done 
my  best;  and  at  any  rate  it  would  certainly  have 
been  a  very  great  comfort  to  me. 


206  WENSLEY. 

"  You  would  have  done  right,"  replied  her  father. 
"Frank  is  entitled  to  our  thanks  and  our  confidence; 
for  he  has  shown  himself  truly  discreet  and  friendly, 
as  I  understand  it,  and  he  shall  have  both."  I  bowed, 
and  he  continued,  "In  fact,  there  is  not  much  to  tell 
you.  Just  as  I  retired  from  the  army,  now  more  than 
twenty  years  since,  old  Vinal  Grayson,  who  had  been 
the  agent  for  the  loyalists  ever  since  the  year  '80, 
died ;  and,  as  it  was  important  that  the  post  should 
be  held  by  some  person  having  some  knowledge  of 
the  Colonies  and  the  people  claiming  relief  from  time 
to  time,  I  was  persuaded  by  Lord  Hobart,  then  colo 
nial  secretary,  to  act  in  that  capacity,  though  much 
against  my  will.  For,  though  a  limitation  of  time 
was  prescribed  in  the  bill  for  the  compensation  of  the 
loyalists,  still  the  government  was  very  liberal  and 
considerate  in  the  admission  of  claims  in  cases  of 
special  hardship  which  might  be  strictly  barred  by 
lapse  of  time." 

"The  British  Government  stood  handsomely  by 
those  who  stood  by  them,  I  have  always  heard," 
said  I. 

"You  have  heard  the  truth,"  lie  replied.  "Of 
course  it  was  impossible  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  all 
that  made  them ;  nor  could  the  real  losses  we  sus 
tained  be  made  good.  But  the  successive  ministries 
all  behaved  as  well  as  they  could,  I  believe.  But 
this  liberality  exposed  the  government  to  the  danger 
—  which,  indeed,  is  incident  to  all  systems  of  com 
pensations  and  pensions  —  of  fictitious  and  forged 


IN   WHICH   WILL   BE   FOUND   WHAT   CAME   NEXT.      207 

claims.  This  could  hardly  be  avoided  with  the  great 
est  diligence,  especially  as  many  of  the  pensioners 
had  returned  to  this  country,  and  the  distances  over 
which  they  were  scattered  made  it  very  hard  to  keep 
a  strict  eye  upon  them  all." 

"  That  is  plain  enough,"  said  I.  "  I  should  think 
it  must  have  been  out  of  the  question." 

"  We  did  our  best,"  he  went  on.  "  But  it  was  hard 
to  guard  against  all  the  devices  of  the  enemy.  Some 
three  years  ago,  or  thereabouts,  I  was  strongly  suspi 
cious  that  an  extensive  fraud  had  been  carried  on 
for  some  time.  In  the  course  of  rny  investigations  I 
had  consulted  with  this  Ferguson,  as  I  had  done 
frequently  before,  regarding  him  as  a  shrewd  legal 
adviser,  and  as  one  particularly  well  qualified  to  act 
as  such  from  his  own  connection  with  the  loyalists. 
Young  Markham,  too,  who  was  frequently  at  my 
offices  in  London  with  his  father,  and  who  was  just 
then  about  to  be  entered  at  the  Inner  Temple,  was 
also  taken  into  confidence,  and  employed  in  a  sub 
ordinate  capacity  from  time  to  time." 

"What  was  the  nature  of  the  fraud  you  sus 
pected  ? "  I  asked. 

"It  was  a  claim  purporting  to  be  of  one  Michael 
St.  John,"  he  replied,  "  for  a  large  seizure  of  specie 
and  goods  which  he  was  transferring  from  New  Jer 
sey  to  New  York,  at  the  beginning  of  the  Ee volution, 
for  protection  from  the  British  troops,  and  taken  by 
the  rebels.  With  interest  upon  interest,  it  was  made 
to  amount  to  near  fifty  thousand  pounds.  It  seemed 


208  WENSLEY. 

so  well  supported  by  vouchers  and  affidavits,  and  the 
case  as  stated  appeared  so  hard  a  one,  that  Mr.  Per 
ceval  (for  it  happened  during  his  short  rule)  consented 
to  allow  the  man  a  pension  of  five  hundred  pounds  a 
year  for  his  life,  provided  Mr.  Jackson,  then  minis 
ter  at  Washington,  should  certify  to  the  necessary 
facts.  This  was  done ;  and,  as  soon  as  the  certificate 
arrived  in  due  form,  it  was  all  settled,  as  I  supposed ; 
and  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  remit  the  money  to  New 
York  every  year  on  receiving  the  regular  evidence 
that  the  man  was  alive." 

"  And  how  long  did  this  go  on,  sir  ? "  I  inquired. 

"  For  eight  or  nine  years,"  he  answered.  "  And  it 
would  never  have  been  suspected  that  there  was  any 
thing  amiss,  had  I  not  had  occasion  to  look  into  some 
American  despatches  in  the  foreign  office  on  another 
matter  relating  to  my  department ;  and,  to  my  sur 
prise,  I  found  no  record,  at  the  time  the  certificate  of 
the  identity  of  St.  John  was  sent  over,  of  any  such 
transaction.  Mr.  Jackson  was  dead,  and  his  secretary 
at  one  of  the  Northern  courts,  and  there  was  no  im 
mediate  way  of  sifting  it.  I  looked  farther  back,  and 
found  several  other  cases  of  like  nature  (of  less 
amount,  but  very  considerable  in  the  aggregate),  all  of 
which  were  payable  to  the  same  agent  in  New  York 
who  held  St.  John's  power  of  attorney." 

"  And  what  did  you  do  then,  sir  ? "  I  asked,  nat 
urally  interested  in  the  story. 

"  I  at  once  sent  for  Ferguson,"  he  answered,  "  who 
seemed  as  much  perplexed  and  amazed  as  I  was ; 


IN   WHICH   WILL   BE   FOUND   WHAT   CAME   NEXT.      209 

and  he  advised  me  to  say  nothing,  for  the  present,  to 
the  colonial  secretary,  but  to  lay  a  trap  for  the  rogue 
at  New  York,  so  as  to  get  his  testimony  as  to  the 
origin  of  the  business." 

"  And  you  did  so,  I  suppose  ? "  I  suggested. 

"Yes,  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  did.  It  was  the  grand 
mistake  I  made.  I  ought  to  have  reported  the  whole 
thing  at  once  ;  for,  when  it  transpired  in  that  quarter, 
—  as  it  very  soon  did,  through  Markhain's  impru 
dence  or  ill  luck,  —  it  had  an  ugly  look." 

"  And  how  was  that,  sir  ?  "  I  inquired  of  him. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  Markham  had  a  brother  who  was 
a  clerk  in  the  colonial  office ;  and  he  happened  to  be 
there  one  morning  when  the  secretary  came  through 
the  room  where  he  was.  He  remembered  that  Mark- 
ham  had  been  sent  to  him  by  me  on  business  once  or 
twice,  and  called  him  into  his  private  room  to  ask 
him  some  questions  on  a  matter  to  come  before  Par 
liament  that  day,  that  he  supposed  he  might  know 
about.  I  can't  tell  you  how  the  cross-purposes  oc 
curred  ;  but  Markham,  supposing  he  was  speaking  of 
this  matter,  of  which  his  own  thoughts  were  full, 
made  answers  which  aroused  the  curiosity  of  the 
minister,  and  he  did  not  release  him  till  he  had 
learned  all  he  had  to  tell." 

"  That  was  unlucky,  certainly,"  said  I.  "  But  it 
was  rather  poor  Markhain's  misfortune  than  his 
fault." 

"  So  I  have  tried  to  persuade  papa,"  Eleanor  put  in, 
blushing,  and  looking  down  ;  "  but  he  "  — 

14 


210  WENSLEY. 

"  All !  but  you  forget,  my  dear,  that,  although  lie 
was  taken  by  surprise  at  first,  he  admitted  that  he 
went  on  deliberately  afterwards  in  his  account  of  the 
matter,  thinking,  forsooth,  that  it  was  best  for  all  par 
ties  !  He  think,  indeed  !  '* 

"But  perhaps  he  was  right,  papa,"  said  Eleanor, 
growing  a  little  warmer  as  she  went  on.  "  You  say 
that  you  were  mistaken  in  not  doing  this  very  thing 
at  first :  why,  then,  are  you  so  very  severe  on  poor 
Mr.  Markham?" 

"  He  and  I  were  very  different  people,  my  dear,"  he 
replied;  "and  the  conduct  which  might  have  been 
wise  in  me  was  uncalled  for  and  impertinent  in  him. 
And  that  is  harder  to  forgive  than  an  intentional  in 
jury,  of  which  I  have  never  suspected  him.  Had 
he  held  his  tongue,  we  should  have  been  at  Walford 
to-day,  instead  of  Wensley." 

I  really  could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  bear  him 
malice  for  that ;  though  I  did  not  think  Miss  Eleanor 
had  any  occasion  to  blush  so  when  she  named  him. 
I  only  said,  however,  "  And  what  was  the  upshot, 
sir  ? " 

"  Why,  the  upshot  was,  as  you  might  suppose,  that 
the  minister  was  high,  and  I  was  as  high  as  he.  He 
spoke  of  the  whole  business  in  a  way  that  I  could 
not  stand,  sir,  and  I  threw  up  the  office  on  the  spot. 
His  lordship  made  no  objections  to  receiving  my 
resignation,  and  soon  afterwards  appointed  this  very 
Ferguson  my  successor." 

"  Ferguson  ! "  I  exclaimed. 


IN  WHICH  WILL   BE   FOUND   WHAT   CAME   NEXT.      211 

"  Oil,  yes  !  "  he  replied  ;  "  and  a  very  proper  appoint 
ment  it  seemed  to  me  then,"  Eleanor  lifted  up  her 
eyes  arid  hands  as  a  slight  protest.  "  Well,  there  was 
no  reason  I  knew  of  why  it  was  not,  my  dear ;  and  I 
made  no  quarrel  with  Ferguson  on  that  score." 

"  But  how  was  this  connected  with  your  coming  to 
America,  sir,  if  I  may  ask  ? "  said  I. 

"  Very  naturally,"  he  answered.  "  As  these  frauds 
had  occurred  during  my  incumbency,  I  felt  myself 
bound  to  do  my  best  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  them,  and 
to  bring  the  perpetrators  to  justice.  It  was  due  to 
the  government  and  to  my  own  character ;  and  the 
most  direct  way  seemed  to  be  to  look  into  them  in 
person  and  on  the  spot.  And  so  I  came  over ;  and, 
as  this  foolish  girl  would  not  be  left  behind,  I  had  to 
bring  her  with  me." 

"  And  what  success  have  you  had,  sir?"  I  inquired- 

"  Indifferent  enough,"  was  his  reply.  "  The  con 
spirators  on  this  side  the  water  must  have  had  timely 
notice  of  the  discovery :  for  I  have  got  no  trace  of 
them  yet,  and  I  fear  I  never  shall  now.  But  I  had 
resolved  never  to  go  home  until  I  had  cleared  this 
mystery  up ;  and  nothing  but  some  imputation  on 
my  honor  and  character,  such  as  Ferguson  threw  out 
to-day,  would  shake  iny  resolution." 

"  Perhaps,  sir,"  I  suggested,  "  what  he  said  was  a 
mere  burst  of  spite  and  vexation  ;  for  I  must  say  that 
my  cousin's  reception  and  treatment  of  him  were  not 
of  a  gratifying  description.  Will  it  not  be  time  enough 
to  decide  and  to  act,  after  you  have  some  definite  in- 


212  WEXSLEY. 

formation  as  to  what  he  means  to  do  and  say  ?  Pos 
sibly  you  may  never  hear  from  him  again." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  at  all  likely,"  he  rejoined. 
"  But,  as  you  say,  perhaps  there  is  no  hurry  about  it. 
At  any  rate,  I  will  be  ruled  by  a  girl  and  boy  to  the 
extent  of  taking  time  to  consider  before  I  do  any 
thing  further." 

And  Eleanor  thanked  him  again  in  the  manner 
heretofore  protested  against  by  Sir  Walter  Scott  and 
myself.  I  added,  when  this  was  over,  — 

"  And  I  wish,  sir,  you  would  take  the  boy's  advice 
in  another  particular.'' 

"  Ah !  and  what  is  that  ? "  said  he,  smiling  gra 
ciously. 

"  I  wish  you  would  take  Mr.  Bulkley  into  your 
counsels.  He  is  odd,  but  kind,  and  a  genuine  friend 
to  this  house,  if  faith  may  be  given  to  his  words 
behind  your  backs.  And  he  is  shrewd  and  wise  in  his 
generation,  and  as  true  as  Toledo  steel ;  and  I  know 
that  your  confidence  would  be  very  gratifying  to 
him." 

"  Oh,  I,  have  the  highest  value  for  the  good  Parson," 
he  replied  good-naturedly,  "  and  would  trust  him  with 
my  soul,  body,  and  estate.  I  do  not  imagine  he  can 
do  much  for  us  ;  but,  if  you  should  like  to  take 
him  into  counsel,  I  have  no  objection.  —  Have  you, 
Eleanor  ? " 

"  No,  indeed,  papa ! "  she  replied  ;  "  and  I  think  he 
is  a  very  knowing  old  man.  Perhaps,  as  Cousin  Frank 
says,  he  may  make  some  useful  suggestion.  At  any 


IN   WHICH    WILL   BE   FOUND   WHAT    CAME   NEXT.      213 

rate,  he  will  be  a  kind  and  good  friend  ;  and  surely 
we  have  no  superfluity  of  such." 

"  You  may  tell  him  what  you  think  best  of  our 
affairs,  then,'*  the  Colonel  said,  in  conclusion,  "  when 
ever  he  comes  home,  and  say  I  should  like  to  talk 
matters  over  with  him.  And  now,  come,  take  Elea 
nor  into  the  dining-room  ;  for  you  must  be  ready  for 
your  dinner  by  this  time." 

And  so,  in  truth,  I  found  myself,  as  soon  as  I  could 
descend  to  consider  the  matter ;  and,  as  the  hour 
when  poor  Jasper  had  spread  his  table  for  me  was 
long  past,  I  made  no  resistance  to  this  hospitable 
suggestion.  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  put  it 
on  record  or  not ;  but  the  fact  is,  that,  notwithstanding 
the  agitations  of  one  kind  and  another  we  had  under 
gone,  we  gave  all  the  evidence  good  appetites  could 
imply  of  good  consciences.  During  dinner  we  talked 
on  indifferent  subjects  ;  and  the  servant  who  waited 
on  us  could  not  have  suspected  from  our  ways  that 
anything  out  of  the  common  course  had  occurred 
that  morning.  Such  are  the  funny  conditions  of  the 
human  microcosm.  After  dinner,  I  returned  to  the 
parsonage,  and  applied  myself  to  my  classics  with 
what  appetite  I  might. 


CHAPTER  XT  I. 

FRIENDS   IN   COUNCIL. 

"D  Y  the  encouragement  of  Colonel  Allerton  and 
•*— '  Eleanor  I  was  almost  daily  at  Woodside  until 
the  return  of  the  good  Parson,  which  was  delayed 
several  days  beyond  the  time  he  had  fixed  for  it. 
And,  so  curious  is  the  mechanism  of  humanity,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  had  never  seen  them  so  much  at 
their  ease  as  since  the  adventure  of  the  Sachem's  Seat. 
Eleanor,  particularly,  seemed  as  if  she  had  thrown  a 
load  from  off  her  heart ;  and  its  shadow,  which  used 
too  often  to  steal  over  her  features,  had  disappeared 
with  it.  There  was  certainly  a  little  flush  of  excite 
ment  often  on  her  cheek ;  but  the  air  of  abstraction 
and  revery  was  gone  entirely.  Her  manners  to  her 
father  were  more  caressing  and  tender  than  ever,  and 
to  me  as  open  and  affectionate  as  a  friend  could  desire. 
Colonel  Allerton  retained  his  old  calmness  of  exterior, 
and  looked,  as  he  said  he  was,  as  if  he  were  waiting 
for  the  next  move.  Eleanor  spoke  freely  to  me  of 
the  relief  she  felt  at  having  this  mystery,  which  had 
been  haunting  her  for  so  long,  take  a  definite  shape, 
so  that  she  knew  what  it  was  she  had  to  fear,  and 
at  the  restoration  of  entire  confidence  between  her 


FRIENDS   IN   COUNCIL.  215 

father  and  herself.  I  had  a  full  intellectual  sense  of 
the  rascality  of  Ferguson ;  but  I  could  not  but  feel 
that  he  had  done  me  the  best  of  service  by  putting 
me  into  these  confidential  relations  with  the  people 
I  valued  the  most  on  earth. 

Things  went  on  thus  for  some  days,  until  the  min 
ister  at  last  returned.  I  was  standing  ready  to  assist 
him  in  alighting  from  the  coach,  which  arrived  just 
before  tea-time.  I  noticed  that  he  did  not  seem  so 
cheery  and  lightsome  of  mood  as  he  usually  was ; 
but  I  attributed  it  entirely  to  the  fatigue  of  the 
journey,  which  even  he  might  feel  more  than  he 
would  choose  to  admit  at  seventy  years.  At  tea  I 
asked  him  as  to  the  issue  of  his  onslaught  on  the 
Hog's  Neck ;  and  he  told  me,  that  Mr.  Hayley  had 
given  him  in  writing  just  such  an  opinion  as  he  ex 
pected,  and  which  he  was  sure  he  could  use  to  restore 
peace  within  the  walls  of  Jericho.  But,  still,  he  did 
not  treat  the  matter  in  the  jocose  and  airy  strain  with 
which  he  was  wont  to  encounter  such  oddities  of 
adventure.  Indeed,  he  did  not  seem  to  be  thinking 
about  it  even  while  giving  me  this  account  of  his 
success.  I  thought,  too,  that  I  could  observe  him 
regarding  me,  when  he  thought  I  was  not  noticing 
him,  with  an  air  of  deep  sympathy  and  commisera 
tion.  In  short,  he  had  a  good  deal  the  air  and  man 
ner  of  one  of  those  fearful  friends  who  have  some 
piece  of  bad  news  for  you  which  they  keep  back  in 
order  to  prepare  you  for  the  shock,  but  which  they 
can't  help  from  peeping  out  from  the  corners  of  their 


216  WENSLEY. 

eyes  and  mouth,  and  which  frightens  you  ten  times 
more  than  the  baldest  and  rudest  display  of  the  facts 
would  do. 

« Ye  gods,  avert 

Such  plagues  from  righteous  men  ! " 

When  Jasper  had  withdrawn  the  tea-things  and 
gone  about  his  business  to  some  other  part  of  the 
domain,  I  said  to  Mr.  Bulkley,  — 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  do  not  seem  yourself  this  even 
ing.  You  are  not  usually  so  done  up  by  a  journey 
of  twenty  odd  miles,  are  you  ?  You  have  heard  some 
bad  news  I  am  afraid,  sir." 

"Bad  news!"  he  repeated.  "Why  so?  why  should 
you  think  I  had  heard  bad  news?  I  have  heard 
none  that  affects  myself  or  you  particularly."  And 
I  could  see  that  he  was  eying  me  with  the  look  of 
a  tender-hearted  surgeon  (if  such  an  anomaly  exist) 
just  before  cutting  off  the  pet  leg  of  his  intimate 
friend. 

"  Perhaps,  then,  it  relates  to  the  Allertons,"  I  sug 
gested.  "  I  don't  know  who  else  there  is  that  we 
have  any  common  interest  in." 

"  The  Allertons  ! "  he  replied,  still  looking  kindly 
but  mournfully  at  me.  "  And  why  should  you  think 
of  them  and  bad  news  together  ?  Have  you  any 
reason  to  suppose  that  any  such  may  be  likely  to  be 
heard  of  them  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  have,  sir,"  I  answered ;  "  and  I  will  not 
imitate  their  reserve,  of  which  I  have  heard  you  com 
plain,  if  you  will  be  as  open  with  me." 


FRIENDS  IN   COUNCIL.  217 

"  I  have  little  to  tell,  my  dear  boy,"  said  he,  with 
strong  marks  of  surprise  and  interest  in  his  face  ; 
"and  that  is  merely  the  gossip  of  Boston,  which 
may  have  no  foundation  whatever.  So,  pray,  tell 
me  what  it  is  you  mean." 

Thus  urged,  I  proceeded  to  tell  him  all  that  I  have 
already  told  the  world  in  the  foregoing  pages,  arid 
especially  the  final  explosion,  not  forgetting  the  per 
mission  they  had  given  me  to  take  him  into  the 
secret  and  the  request  of  Colonel  Allerton  for  his 
counsel. 

"  The  secret ! "  said  the  minister,  after  he  had  lis 
tened  with  the  most  earnest  attention  to  all  that  I 
had  to  say.  "  I  am  afraid  that  there  is  no  longer 
any  secret  to  be  admitted  into.  This  business  was 
the  talk  of  Boston  this  morning.  I  do  not  mean 
that  all  the  details  you  have  given  were  blown;  but 
there  was  a  vague  rumor  that  Colonel  Allerton  had 
fled  his  country  for  some  great  crime  which  had 
only  been  recently  discovered.  As  to  my  advice 
and  assistance,  if  I  can  afford  any,  God  knows  all 
I  have  is  at  their  service.  But,  Frank,  you  seem 
to  have  been  taken  into  their  confidence  in  a  re 
markable  sort  of  way.  I  should  have  been  most 
glad  to  have  known  it  before  this  mischief  devel 
oped  itself." 

I  assured  him  that  my  being  admitted  into  their 
counsels  had  been  owing  to  inexorable  circumstances, 
and  that  I  had  received  no  more  confidence  from 
them  than  had  been  extorted  by  the  necessities  of 


218  WENSLEY. 

the  case.  He  shook  his  head  and  said,  sadly,  after 
a  short  pause,  — 

"  I  am  an  old  fool,  I  suppose.  But  I  had  been 
building  a  castle  in  the  air  for  you  and  Eleanor,  I 
confess ;  and  I  was  made  unhappy,  I  admit,  by  the 
thought  that  this  scandal  would  probably  blow  it  sky 
high.  I  never  made  a  match  for  myself ;  but  I  have 
always  been  making  matches  —  planning  them,  that 
is  —  for  other  people.  To  be  sure,  I  have  been 
oftener  disappointed  than  not  in  rny  schemes." 

"  This  scandal,  sir,"  I  replied,  determined  to  keep 
a  good  face,  though  I  caught  my  breath  a  little  as 
I  spoke, — "this  scandal  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  your  castle ;  for  I  am  afraid  that  I  am  not 
the  man  Eleanor  has  chosen  to  inhabit  it  with  her. 
But  had  it  been  otherwise,  and  should  even  this 
slander  be  proved  to  be  truth,  I  should  have  scorned 
myself  if  I  permitted  the  fault  of  a  father  to  influence 
my  feelings  or  my  conduct  towards  such  a  daughter, 
had  I  any  species  of  claim  upon  her,  which  I  cer 
tainly  have  not." 

'"  You  are  right,  Osborne,"  he  replied,  still  look 
ing  sadly  and  kindly  at  me,  which  I  pretended  not  to 
observe,  —  "  you  are  right,  and  speak  as  a  man  of 
honor  and  just  feelings  should.  But  suppose  we 
walk  up  to  Woodside  at  once.  We  shall  find  them 
just  done  tea." 

Of  course  I  made  no  objection  to  this  proposal ; 
and  we  were  soon  on  our  way  thither,  only  making 
a  forced  halt  at  the  post-office,  where  the  Parson 


FRIENDS  IN   COUNCIL.  219 

was  intercepted  by  Major  Grimes,  Deacon  Holt,  and 
several  of  the  other  dignitaries  of  the  village,  and 
compelled  to  disburse  the  latest  news  from  town. 
He  then  received,  in  his  turn,  their  contributions 
as  to  the  condition  of  the  parish,  particularly  as  to 
health  and  sickness ;  for  I  believe  I  have  forgotten 
to  tell,  among  other  particularities  of  Wensley,  that 
the  Parson  was  not  only  its  lawyer,  but  its  doctor 
to  boot.  Whether  it  was  owing  to  his  skill  in 
medicine  (for  he  had  dabbled  a  little  in  that  as 
in  almost  everything  else)  or  to  his  very  moderate 
exhibitions  of  the  same,  Wensley  was  always  in 
a  state  of  rude  health  truly  disheartening  to  any 
young  and  enterprising  practitioner ;  so  that  the 
few  that  had  ever  pitched  their  tents  there  had 
soon  struck  them  again  and  departed  for  more  hope 
ful  fields  of  labor. 

Jasper  was  Mr.  Bulkley's  main  assistant  in  his 
medical  practice ;  for  he  had  learned  to  breathe  a 
vein  during  the  war,  with  perfect  accuracy,  when 
in  attendance  for  a  while  on  the  hospital  depart 
ment;  and,  as  phlebotomy  was  still  a  main  arm  of 
the  war  service  against  disease  at  that  time,  he  was 
an  invaluable  auxiliary.  In  cases  of  a  critical  char 
acter,  to  be  sure,  he  would  call  in  the  famous  Dr. 
Whittredge,  of  Sandover,  who  was  his  ancient  friend 
and  willing  adviser,  and  almost  as  great  an  oddity 
as  himself.  When  I  was  last  in  Wensley  there 
were  more  doctors'  signs  even  than  meeting-houses, 
regular  and'  irregular,  allopathic,  homoeopathic,  hydro- 


220  WENSLEY. 

pathic,  botanic  :  all  systems  had  their  zealous  pro 
fessors,  ready  to  dispense  life  and  health  to  all  who 
had  the  faith  and  knowledge  to  come  to  them.  I 
wonder  whether  Wensley  is  better  in  body  and 
soul  now  than  it  was  when  Priest  Bulkley  lorded 
it  there,  with  gentlest  despotism,  in  things  tempo 
ral  and  eternal  ? 

We  were  most  kindly  received  on  presenting  our 
selves  at  Woodside,  and  the  good  Parson  cordially 
thanked  for  the  promptitude  of  his  visit.  If  there 
were  any  embarrassment  on  either  side  at  the  meeting, 
it  was  on  ours.  Colonel  Allerton  and  Eleanor  pos 
sessed  their  souls  in  the  same  calm  and  imperturbable 
equanimity  which  generally  marked  their  manners, 
and  which  I  alone  had  been  permitted  to  see  dis 
turbed.  We  talked  over  the  Ferguson  business  with 
perfect  openness,  and  discussed  its  various  bearings 
freely,  or  rather  the  elders  did ;  for  Eleanor  and  I  were 
only  listeners,  for  the  most  part. 

They  did  show  some  sensibility,  indeed,  when  Mr. 
Bulkley  told  them  that  their  affairs  were  the  town 
gossip  in  Boston  that  day;  for  who  can  know  that 
their  conduct  is  the  theme  of  common  talk  and  vulgar 
discussion,  however  blameless  they  may  know  them 
selves  to  be,  without  a  feeling  of  wounded  pride  and 
a  bitter  sense  of  injustice  —  to  feel  that,  at  that  very 
moment  of  time,  hundreds  of  strangers,  or,  which  is 
worse,  professing  friends,  are  engaged  in  exclaiming, 
wondering,  and  conjecturing  about  your  affairs,  and  in 
tearing  your  character  to  shreds,  extenuating  noth- 


FRIENDS   IN   COUNCIL.  221 

ing,  and  setting  down  everything,  if  not  in  malice,  at 
least  with  a  good  nature,  which  is  an  excellent  imita 
tion  of  it  ?  However,  they  swallowed  the  momentary 
pang,  and  the  conversation  proceeded. 

"  The  essential  thing  to  be  done,"  said  Mr.  Bulk- 
ley,  "  seems  to  be  to  discover  the  agent  who  was  em 
ployed  to  receive  the  moneys  in  New  York.  Have 
you  no  clew  to  him  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,"  replied  Colonel  Allerton.  "  I 
made  it  my  first  business  to  inquire  him  out ;  but  he 
had  disappeared  past  recovery.  He  had  no  domicile, 
apparently,  there,  but  came  to  the  city  as  the  remit 
tances  were  expected." 

"  That  is  strange,"  said  the  Parson.  "  But  does  it 
not  occur  to  you  as  possible  that  some  trace  might  be 
got  of  him  by  the  way  of  this  St.  John  you  speak  of 
—  the  man  in  whose  name  the  pension  stood  ?  Of 
course  he  is  probably  dead ;  but  there  must  have  been 
such  a  man,  I  take  it,  and  somebody  must  remember 
him." 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  replied  the  Colonel.  "  I  could 
hear  nothing  of  him  in  all  the  inquiries  I  could 
make  after  him.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a 
person  ? " 

" No"  said  the  minister ;  " I  never  did.  But,  then, 
I  have  no  acquaintance  in  the  Jerseys ;  nor  do  I  know 
anybody  that  has.  But  stop  a  minute,"  he  continued, 
putting  his  finger  to  his  forehead  ;  "  I  'm  not  so  sure 
of  that.  There's  my  Jasper;  he's  a  Jerseyman.  It's 
barely  possible  he  may  remember  such  a  person ;  for 


222  WENSLEY. 

he  never  forgets  any  one,  and  especially  a  Tory," 
laughing  as  he  spoke. 

"It  is  not  at  all  likely,"  replied  the  Colonel,  "that  he 
should  have  put  his  rehel  memory  to  so  good  a  use  as 
this,  especially  as  it  would  be  to  oblige  another  Tory ; 
but  it  can  do  no  harm  to  ask  him  the  question." 

"  Another  thing,"  said  Mr.  Bulkley.  "  Has  it  ever 
suggested  itself  to  you  that  this  Ferguson  may  have 
had  some  cognizance  of  this  matter  ?  He  seems  ras 
cal  enough  for  it." 

"  I  certainly  never  thought  anything  of  the  sort," 
returned  the  Colonel,  "  until  the  other  day.  Since 
then,  I  confess,  it  has  occurred  to  me ;  but  I  have  no 
ground  of  suspicion  except  my  ill  opinion  of  him." 

"But  what  are  his  connections  in  this  country  ?" 
asked  the  minister.  "  You  said,  I  think,  that  he  was 
of  Tory  blood.  That  may  give  us  some  inkling  to 
guide  us." 

"  His  family  were  from  the  Middle  States  some 
where,"  answered  the  other ;  '•'  though  I  believe  his 
mother  was  from  New  England.  But  she  died  before 
I  knew  anything  about  them.  His  father  was  Colonel 
Eobert  Ferguson,  who  died  in  Jamaica  about  the  year 
five.  I  knew  him  there  ten  years  before." 

The  minister's  countenance  fell.  After  a  brief 
pause  he  asked,  in  a  constrained  voice, — 

"  He  was  receiver-general  there,  was  he  not  ? " 

"  Eeceiver  or  registrar  general,  or  something  of  the 
sort,"  replied  the  Colonel,  little  thinking  how  rude  a 
wound  he  was  giving  his  old  friend. 


FRIENDS   IN   COUNCIL.  223 

I  comprehended  the  whole  in  a  moment.  It 
flashed  into  my  mind  at  the  same  moment  it  did 
into  Mr.  Bulkley's  that  this  Ferguson  must  he  the 
son  of  the  fair,  the  frail,  the  unworthy  Julia  Mansfield, 
his  first  and  only  love,  whose  unworthiness  he  had 
mourned  more  bitterly  than  her  scorn  or  her  death. 
This  man  was  the  inheritor  of  her  blood  —  her  repre 
sentative  ! 

Mr.  Bulkley  sat  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes  as  if 
to  recover  from  the  shock,  as  I  saw.  Our  companions 
did  not  remark  it;  for,  though  they  had  heard  the 
story  of  the  good  Parson's  cross  in  love,  they  had 
paid  no  particular  attention  to  the  names  of  the 
parties  and  had  probably  forgotten  them  entirely. 
Presently  he  rose  and  took  leave,  saying  he  would 
come  again  the  next  day  and  talk  over  the  matter 
further. 

"  And  if  you  will  give  me  leave,"  said  the  Colonel, 
as  we  were  leaving  the  house,  "  I  will  walk  down  to 
the  parsonage  to  breakfast  to-morrow  and  hear  what 
Jasper  has  to  say  on  the  St.  John  matter,  if  the  day 
be  fine." 

Of  course  this  suggestion  met  with  a  cordial  ac 
quiescence;  and  Mr.  Bulkley  and  I  passed  out  into 
the  night.  It  was  cold  for  the  season  ;  but  the  chill 
air  seemed  to  refresh  him.  He  drew  a  long  breath 
and  set  off  rapidly  towards  home.  Then  he  slack 
ened  his  pace  and  then  quickened  it  again,  as  if  un 
conscious  of  what  he  did.  I  felt  his  arm  tremble  upon 
mine,  and  knew  that  deep  feelings  and  strong  passions 


224  WENS  LEY. 

agitated  his  aged  bosom.  I  reverenced  his  sorrows 
and  paid  them  the  homage  of  perfect  silence.  His 
was  a  heart  that  never  could  grow  old ;  and  out  of  its 
warm  recesses  what  were  the  images  that  glided  forth 
and  walked  with  him  through  that  glimmering  night  ? 
What  eye  but  his  could  see  the  phantom  in  all  the 
loveliness,  and  innocence,  and  gayety  of  fifty  years 
ago  evoked  by  the  necromancy  of  a  chance  word  that 
stirred  his  being  to  its  depths  ?  What  visions  of 
youth,  and  love,  and  hope  waited  upon  her !  What 
memories  of  disappointment,  of  despair,  of  grief, 
harder  to  bear  than  either,  followed  after  her  !  Who 
but  he  could  tell  ? 

I  could  not  tell  what  was  the  procession  of  shadows 
that  passed  before  him  as  we  walked  side  by  side ; 
but  I  felt  that  it  was  sweeping  by,  and  I  religiously 
forbore  to  disturb  it  by  a  loud  breath.  I  had  no  sense 
of  the  fifty  years  that  separated  us.  Something  there 
was  (I  wonder  what  it  could  have  been  ? )  that  con 
temporized  us,  to  use  a  word  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne's 
coinage.  The  sympathy  I  felt  with  him  was  that  of 
youth  with  youth,  and  not  of  youth  with  age.  He 
felt,  too,  that  I  understood  him,  though,  no  words  had 
passed  between  us  ;  and  his  grateful  pressure  of  my 
hand,  as  we  stood  on  the  door-stone,  told  me  so  and 
thanked  me  for  it.  He  took  the  candle  from  Jasper, 
who  opened  the  door  for  us,  and  went  directly  into 
his  bedroom,  and  we  saw  him  no  more  that  night ; 
though  the  great  Bible  lay  open  on  his  study  table, 
with  the  lights,  all  ready  for  prayers. 


FRIENDS   IN   COUNCIL.  225 

Jasper  looked  at  me  as  I  went  in  and  took  up  one 
of  the  candles,  and  said,  shaking  his  head,  "  Some 
body's  been  a- talking  to  him  about  that  Tory  Mansfield 
girl?" 

I  nodded  acquiescence ;  and  he  went  on :  "I 
knowed  it  as  soon  as  I  see  him.  It's  been  just  so 
this  forty  odd  year  that  I  Ve  lived  with  him.  Ah  ! 
Master  Frank,"  he  continued,  in  a  truculent  tone,  "  a 
woman  's  bad  enough,  anyhow ;  but  a  woman  that 's 
a  Tory  too  is  the  devil ! " 

With  this  apothegm  he  made  me  his  military  salute 
and  left  me  to  my  meditations.  And  he  had  certainly 
given  me  a  text  for  them  too.  I  could  not  help  feel 
ing,  as  I  lay  in  bed  thinking  the  day  over,  that  I 
knew  an  individual  of  the  kind,  and  with  the  specific 
difference  he  had  thus  denounced,  whom  yet  I  could 
not  consent  to  refer  to  the  order  in  the  spiritual  hier 
archy  to  which  he  had  reduced  all  such  in  a  lump. 
While  still  engaged  in  these  commentaries  I  fell 
asleep. 

The  Colonel  was  as  good  as  his  word  the  next 
morning,  and  arrived  before  Jasper  had  laid  the  table 
for  breakfast.  Mr.  Bulkley  and  I  were  walking  up 
and  down  the  gravel  walk  which  bisected  the  garden, 
enjoying  the  clear  light  and  bracing  breath  of  a  fine 
October  morning,  when  he  passed  through  the  house 
and  joined  us.  He  seemed  not  quite  as  well  at  ease 
as  he  had  done  the  evening  before ;  and,  after  saluta 
tions  had  been  exchanged,  he  said,  — 

"  My  walk  has  been  productive  of  more  enlighten- 
15 


226  WENSLEY. 

ment  as  to  the  state  of  my  affairs  than  I  had  ex 
pected  when  I  proposed  coming  here." 

Of  course  we  both  of  us  begged  to  know  from  what 
direction  this  illumination  had  come. 

"  By  a  natural  way  enough,"  he  replied.  "  As  I 
was  passing  the  post-office,  old  Kim  ball  came  run 
ning  after  me  with  a  letter,  which  he  said  had  fallen 
aside  yesterday  afternoon  when  Snell  went  for  the 
letters.  It  is  from  the  British  Minister  at  Washing 
ton." 

We  neither  of  us  knew  precisely  what  to  say  ;  and 
so  prudently  waited  till  he  was  ready  to  proceed, 
which  he  presently  did. 

"  It  is  a  private  and  friendly,  not  an  official  letter. 
He  is  my  very  old  friend,  and,  as  such,  wishes  to  give 
me  all  the  help  he  possibly  can.  But,  as  it  might  be 
misrepresented,  perhaps  it  is  better  that  the  circum 
stance  should  not  be  mentioned." 

We  assented,  and  he  gave  Mr.  Bulkley  the  letter, 
who  read  it  out  as  we  walked.  It  was  friendly  in  its 
tone,  but  diplomatic  in  its  terms,  and  gave  no  more 
information  than  was  necessary  for  his  object.  Begin 
ning  with  expressions  of  regret  at  what  he  had  to  tell, 
his  excellency  informed  Colonel  Allerton  that  charges 
and  evidence  had  been  forwarded  to  England  by  the 
packet  of  the  sixth  which  might  give  rise  to  a  crimi 
nal  prosecution  against  him,  but  which  he,  the  Minis 
ter,  was  sure  Colonel  Allerton  was  fully  prepared  to 
meet  and  explain.  He  thought  it  not  improper,  con 
sidering  their  ancient  friendship,  to  state  to  him  these 


FRIENDS   IN   COUNCIL.  227 

facts,  in  order  that  Colonel  Allerton  might  take  such 
measures  for  his  exculpation  as  the  case  demanded. 
And  he  felt  it  the  more  incumbent  upon  him,  as  a 
personal  friend,  to  give  him  timely  notice,  inasmuch 
as  Colonel  Allerton  must  be  aware  that  his  property 
in  England  would  be  taken  possession  of  by  the  gov 
ernment,  to  await  the  final  issue  of  the  affair. 

"  It 's  very  odd,  by  Jove  ! "  said  he,  when  the  read 
ing  of  the  letter  was  done,  "  that  I  had  never  thought 
of  that  before.  But  of  course  it  is  a  fact ;  and  I  must 
reduce  my  establishment  within  the  limits  of  my 
American  property,  which,  unless  your  general  court 
sees  fit  to  let  go  its  gripe  on  the  Clarke  estate,  is  lit 
tle  enough.  But,  luckily,  I  have  just  received  the 
balance  of  my  half-yearly  settlement  with  my  agent 
at  home ;  so  that  I  am  not  absolutely  without  the 
means  of  carrying  on  the  war  for  a  while." 

Our  consideration  on  this  point  was  presently 
interrupted  by  Jasper,  who  appeared  to  announce 
breakfast.  While  we  were  engaged  in  discussing  the 
admirable  results  of  his  morning's  labors  (and  he  had 
an  artist's  pleasure  in  making  the  work  of  art  before 
us  as  perfect  as  possible)  Mr.  Bulkley  said  to  him,  — 

"  Jasper,  in  what  part  of  New  Jersey  did  Colonel 
Cuyler  live  ? " 

"Up  north,  sir,"  he  replied,  "among  the  mountains, 
on  Marking's  Kill,  three  or  four  miles  west  of  Wil- 
liamsboro',  near  the  Pennsylvany  line." 

"  Very  good,"  responded  the  minister.  "  And  did 
you  ever  happen  to  know  a  man  in  Jersey  named 


228  WENSLEY. 

Saint  John  —  Michael  Saint  John  ?  "  giving  out  the 
name  of  the  evangelist  with  emphatic  distinctness, 
and  laying  particular  stress  on  the  title  which  Chris 
tendom  in  general  agree  to  prefix  to  it,  (though  he  never 
used  it  in  his  public  services,  regarding  it  as  a  rag  of 
Romanism,)  so  as  to  impress  the  name  strongly  on 
Jasper's  mind  and  to  recall  the  man  if  possible. 

Jasper  took  time  to  consider,  during  which  we 
hung  upon  his  lips  in  anxious  expectation ;  but  he 
shook  his  head  and  said,  — 

"No,  sir;  I  never  knewr  any  such  man  there,  nor 
nowhere." 

All  our  countenances  fell  a  little  at  this,  as  we  had 
all  entertained  a  faint  hope  that  we  might  get  some 
glimpse  of  light  from  our  dark  friend.  Even  Colonel 
Allerton  looked  rather  disappointed  ;  though  he  af 
firmed  that  he  had  reckoned  nothing  on  this  most 
remote  and  unlikely  possibility.  So  we  presently  re 
sumed  our  conversation  and  pursued  it  as  if  this  in 
terruption  had  not  taken  place,  and  went  over  again 
the  Saint  John  mystery,  as  men  will  talk  over  a  hope 
less  business,  as  it  discussion  gave  relief,  if  not  hope. 
We  none  of  us  minded  Jasper's  presence;  both  be 
cause  we  knew  that  he  might  be  trusted  with  an 
absolute  confidence,  and  because  there  seemed  no  par 
ticular  reason  for  making  any  more  of  a  mystery  of 
the  matter  than  it  was  in  its  own  essence.  After 
breakfast  Colonel  Allerton  took  his  leave  and  pro 
ceeded  towards  the  village,  leaving  the  minister  and 
me  to  our  morning  tasks. 


FRIENDS   IN   COUNCIL.  229 

We  had  not  been  long  engaged  upon  them  when 
Jasper  came  into  the  room  from  the  garden,  whither 
he  had  repaired  after  disposing  of  his  breakfast  things, 
and  said  to  Mr.  Bulkley,  — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir ;  but  I  have  just  been 
thinking  that  I  used  to  know  another  man  in  Jarsey 
that  you  were  talking  of  this  morning." 

"  Another  man  ! "  said  the  Parson,  rubbing  his  fore 
head.  "  I  don't  remember.  Whom  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  Why,  I  used  to  know  a  Mr.  Sinjin  there  before  the 
war.  I  don't  know  whether  you  care  about  him,  sir." 

"  Bless  your  soul !  "  cried  the  Parson,  jumping  up. 
"  And  was  his  name  Michael  ?  " 

"  I  believe  it  was,  sir,"  replied  Jasper  ;  "  though 
I  'm  not  sure  of  that.  But  there  was  a  Mr.  Sinjin 
lived  the  other  side  of  the  Kill,  about  two  miles  off. 
My  master  had  n't  much  to  do  with  him  latterly  ;  for 
he  was  a  bloody  Tory,  and  went  down  to  York  before 
we  went  to  the  wars." 

"  It  must  be  he !  it  must  be  he ! "  exclaimed  the 
minister,  making  the  historian  Tacitus  describe  a  som 
erset  in  the  air  quite  out  of  keeping  with  his  usually 
staid  and  saturnine  temperament ;  and  then,  clapping 
his  hands,  added,  "  It  must  be  the  very  man,  Osborne, 
must  n't  it  ?  " 

I  assented  to  the  probability. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  him  since  then,  Jas 
per  ? "  he  continued. 

"  No,  sir,"  Jasper  answered.  "  I  have  never  heard 
of  him  or  about  him  for  better  than  forty  year." 


230  WENSLEY. 

"Never  mind,  never  mind,"  the  sanguine  Parson 
proceeded.  "  We  have  found  the  first  track  ;  and  it 
will  be  hard  if  we  don't  follow  it  up.  You  could 
direct  us  to  the  very  place,  I  suppose,  could  n't 
you  ? " 

"  Lord  bless  you,  yes,  sir,"  answered  Jasper.  "  I 
could  find  my  way  there  in  the  dark  if  you'll  put  me 
down  at  Williamsboro'." 

"  To  be  sure  you  could ! "  said  the  minister ;  "  to 
be  sure  you  could  !  This  comes  of  the  English  habit 
of  eating  up  proper  names.  The  Colonel  shall  not 
hear  the  last  of  it  soon,  I  promise  you.  Sinjin, 
indeed  I " 

"  Perhaps,  sir,"  I  suggested,  "  he  may  have  some 
thing  to  say  to  you ;  for,  if  you  had  given  the  name 
as  he  did,  Jasper  would  have  known  what  you  meant. 
He  was  the  judge  of  how  the  name  was  to  be  pro 
nounced,  you  see,  after  all" 

"  Ah,  but  you  see  the  man  was  a  Tory,"  said  the 
minister,  in  high  spirits ;  "  so  it 's  no  wonder  he 
did  n't  know  how  his  own  name  should  be  pro 
nounced,  is  it,  Jasper  ? " 

"  He  was  a  Tory,"  answered  Jasper,  simply,  as  if 
that  was  the  gist  of  the  matter,  as  he  left  the  room. 


CHAPTEE   XIII. 

IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS  IS   MADE. 

I  SUGGESTED  to  Mr.  Bulkley  that  it  would  be 
well  to  lose  no  time  in  apprising  Colonel  Allerton 
of  what  Jasper  had  said.  He  assented  to  the  general 
proposition,  but  added,  — 

"  It  will  be  soon  enough  after  dinner.  This  is  news 
that  will  keep  cold.  And  as  our  studies  have  been 
somewhat  interrupted  of  late,  I  think  we  will  hold  by 
them  this  morning,  if  you  please." 

Of  course  I  had  to  comply,  whether  I  pleased  or 
not ;  and  we  resumed  our  lecture,  though  to  what 
degree  of  edification  I  do  not  think  I  can  precisely 
testify  at  this  distance  of  time.  The  morning  was 
over,  however,  at  last,  and  dinner  was  despatched,  and 
a  proper  interval  allowed  for  the  difference  of  dinner 
time  at  Woodside.  Then  the  Parson  told  me  I  had 
better  proceed  on  my  errand  by  myself,  as  he  must 
make  a  journey  to  Jericho  to  settle  the  rights  and 
wrongs  of  the  Hog's  Neck.  So  I  set  off  alone,  not 
unwillingly.  On  arriving  at  Woodside  I  entered  the 
hall-door,  which  was  standing  hospitably  open,  it  be 
ing  *a  fine  day,  though  well  on  in  October,  without 


232  WENSLEY. 

giving  any  warning  of  my  presence.  My  habits  of 
intimacy  at  the  house  also  authorized  me  to  enter  the 
parlor  where  Eleanor  usually  sat  without  ceremony. 

The  room  was  never  very  light,  owing  to  the  shadow 
of  the  piazza  and  the  climbing  and  drooping  plants 
that  festooned  it ;  and  on  that  afternoon  the  curtain 
of  the  second  window  to  your  right  was  let  down  to 
keep  out  the  blaze  of  the  westering  sun.  As  I  entered 
I  saw,  as  I  thought,  Eleanor  and  her  father  seated  at 
the  very  end  of  the  room  in  earnest  conversation  — 
so  earnest  indeed,  that  they  did  not  at  once  notice  my 
approach.  I  advanced  hastily,  full  of  my  news,  when 
the  pair  rose  in  evident  haste  and  embarrassment  on 
perceiving  me.  I  had  my  message  on  my  lips,  when, 
my  eyes  turning  from  Eleanor  to  her  companion,  I 
was  astonished  at  seeing  that  it  was  not  her  father, 
but  Mr.  Harry  Markham.  My  own  confusion  eclipsed 
theirs  when  I  perceived  this  conjunction,  which  my 
heart  misgave  me  boded  me  no  good. 

The  feeling  that  mine  was  a  most  unwelcome  intru 
sion  crimsoned  my  cheeks  for  a  second;  but  a  bitterer 
pang  soon  drove  the  blood  back  to  my  heart.  A  flash 
of  light  seemed  to  search  the  closest  coverts  of  my 
being,  and  I  saw  myself  as  I  never  did  before.  I 
had  never  said,  even  in  my  secret  thoughts, "  I  love 
Eleanor  Allerton  ! "  till  now  that  I  felt  that  she  was 
lost  to  me  forever.  It  seemed  as  if  years  had  passed 
over  my  heart  since  I  entered  the  house  a  few  mo 
ments  before.  I  was  a  youth  no  longer.  The  passions 
of  a  man  burned  fiercely  in  my  heart,  and  the  simplici- 


IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS   IS   MADE.  233 

ties  and  follies  of  boyhood  shrivelled  and  vanished  in 
the  flame. 

I  was  conscious  that  my  agitation  of  mind  was 
written  in  my  face.  I  felt  that  my  knees  trembled 
and  my  throat  was  parched ;  and  I  waited  a  moment 
till  I  was  sure  of  commanding  my  voice  before  I 
spoke.  But  I  was  master  enough  of  myself  to  see 
that  I  was  not  the  only  embarrassed  one  of  the  party. 
Whether  it  were  the  sight  of  my  emotion,  or  the  con 
flict  of  strong  feelings  of  her  own,  the  alternations  of 
Eleanor's  countenance  (and  its  expression  changed 
continually)  had  a  painful,  suffering  air  as  she  looked 
at  me,  which  I  thought  I  could  read  plainly  enough. 

"  She  is  sorry  for  me  —  poor  foolish  lad  ! "  I  said 
bitterly  to  myself ;  and  I  felt  as  if  I  could  eat  my 
heart  with  rage  that  she  should  know  that  I  was  to 
be  pitied. 

"  And  does  lie,  too,  extend  his  tender  compassion 
to  me  ? "  I  continued,  within  my  teeth. 

I  could  not  tell ;  but  I  thought,  on  thinking  it  over 
afterwards  (I  could  only  see  and  feel  then),  that  his 
thoughts  were  not  on  me.  Why  should  they  be  ? 
He  was  not  a  demonstrative  person  at  any  time,  and 
his  face  was  not  a  book  easy  to  be  read.  But  it  did 
not  express  a  mind  at  ease.  A  mind  at  ease  !  Dis 
turbed,  perhaps,  at  the  very  height  of  his  drearn  of  joy, 
and  hardly  knowing  whether  it  were  a  dream  or  a 
reality,  how  could  it  be  at  ease  ?  It  must  be  so.  And 
I  —  I  had  discerned  where  my  lite  of  life  was  garnered 
up,  just  as  it  was  scattered  to  the  winds.  It  was 


234  WENSLEY. 

a  cruel  moment  for  me  —  a  moment  into  which  an 
eternity  was  crushed  together. 

As  soon  as  I  could  somewhat  command  my  voice 
I  stammered  out,  in  a  huskyish  tone,  "I  —  I  beg 
pardon ;  but  —  but  I  had  a  message  for  your  father  ; 
and  —  and  I  thought  I  should  find  him  here.  Is  he 
in  his  library  ?  "  And  I  made  towards  the  door  by 
which  I  had  entered. 

Eleanor  advanced  towards  me  and  said,  not  without 
agitation  of  look  and  voice,  "  Stay  here,  Cousin  Frank  ; 
I  will  call  him.  He  will  be  glad  to  see  you ;  and  we 
will  hear  your  message  together,  if  there  be  no 
objection." 

And  she  disappeared  through  the  arched  doorway 
which  led  into  her  father's  room.  Left  alone  with 
Markham,  he  came  up  to  me  and  offered  me  his  hand, 
which  I  could  not  refuse ;  and  we  exchanged  a  few 
sentences  of  mutual  inquiry,  though  I  have  no  recol 
lection  of  what  it  was  now,  if  I  had  any  perception  of 
it  at  the  time.  I  stood  in  a  whirl  of  thoughts  and 
emotions  which  I  could  not  analyze.  I  could  not 
reason ;  I  could  only  feel  that  the  lamp  of  my  life 
was  trampled  out  just  as  I  discerned  the  shrine  before 
which  it  burned,  and  that  I  was  doubly  orphaned 
from  that  hour  forward. 

I  had  not  long  to  wait  however ;  for,  as  we  were 
talking,  I  heard  the  quick  step  of  Colonel  Allerton 
moving  about  in  his  room  ;  and  almost  immediately  he 
entered,  alert  and  erect  as  ever,  followed  by  Eleanor. 
After  giving  me  a  friendly  greeting  he  said,  — 


IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS   IS   MADE.  235 

"  And  so  you  have  a  message  for  me,  Eleanor  says. 
And  what  has  the  good  Parson  to  say  now  ?  You 
need  n't  mind  Markham  here.  He  knows  all  that 
we  do."  And  he  gave  him  an  open,  cordial,  friendly 
look,  very  different  from  the  frigid  politeness  of  his 
address  when  I  saw  them  last  together,  but  which 
stung  me  to  the  heart.  What  could  be  the  meaning 
of  it  ?  Was  there  to  be  a  mystery  always  brooding 
over  this  house  ? 

I  told  my  story  as  collectedly  as  I  could,  but  with 
very  little  of  the  animated  interest  which  I  had 
brought  with  it  from  the  parsonage,  but  which  I  had 
laid  down  at  the  threshold  of  that  room.  Luckily  it 
was  not  a  very  complicated  narrative,  or  I  should 
have  bungled  it ;  for  I  was  thinking  but  little  of  what 
I  was  saying.  My  statement,  however,  greatly 
interested  Colonel  Allerton;  and  he  succeeded  in 
making  the  other  two  talk  it  over  with  him  as  a 
circumstance  which  might  possibly  grow  to  some 
importance  in  their  affairs.  I  took  no  part  in  the 
conversation,  and  found  it  hard  to  express  the  interest 
I  ought  to  feel,  and  really  did  at  bottom,  when  any  of 
them  addressed  themselves  to  rne.  I  could  see  that 
Eleanor  was  privily  observing  me,  which  did  not 
assist  me  in  concentrating  rny  ideas ;  but  Markham 
was  clearly  so  full  of  what  concerned  himself  and  his 
friends,  for  such  they  now  plainly  were,  that  he  had 
no  thought  to  bestow  on  me.  Colonel  Allerton, 
however,  was  more  observing ;  and  after  the  matter 
had  been  discussed  and  put  in  all  probable  points  of 


UNIVERSITY 


236  WENSLEY. 

view,  and  not  much  more  remained  to  be  said,  he 
turned  to  me  and  said, — 

"  But  what  ails  you,  Frank,  my  boy  ?  You  are  not 
like  yourself  this  afternoon.  Are  not  you  ill  ? " 

I  confessed  to  a  headache,  (though  I  apprehend 
that  the  seat  of  the  disease  was  not  the  head,)  and 
rose  to  depart,  to  cover  myself  from  further  observa 
tion. 

"  Nay,  but  stay  and  spend  the  rest  of  the  afternoon 
with  us,"  the  Colonel  hospitably  urged.  "  You  have 
not  seen  Markharn  this  long  time;  and  I  prescribe 
his  good  company  and  Eleanor's  as  excellent  for  a 
headache.  I  have  tried  half  the  mixture,"  he  con 
tinued,  looking  at  Eleanor,  "  often  myself,  and  have 
always  found  it  a  sovereign  remedy." 

I  tried  to  laugh ;  and  I  thought,  though  I  did  not 
say  so,  that  the  remedy  was  like  to  be  worse  than  the 
disease.  So  I  resolutely  excused  myself,  alleging  that 
Mr.  Bulkley  would  expect  me  and  that  I  must  go. 

"  Then  come  again  this  evening,"  persisted  the  Colo 
nel  ;  "  and  be  sure  and  bring  him  with  you.  I  want 
to  hear  his  opinion  about  it." 

I  was  going  to  decline  again  on  my  own  account ; 
but,  looking  at  Eleanor,  I  saw  her  eyes  fixed  on  me, 
while  her  lips  expressed  rather  than  uttered,  — 

"  Do  come  ! " 

So  I  half  muttered  and  half  bowed  an  assent  and 
hurried  away.  Still,  as  I  walked  homewards  I  again 
resolved  that  I  would  not  return  to  Woodside  again 
while  Markham  was  there.  I  could  not  endure  it. 


IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS  IS   MADE.  237 

It  was  plain,  that,  however  it  had  been  brought 
about,  the  displeasure  which  Colonel  Allerton  had 
felt  towards  him,  and  in  which  his  daughter  had  cer 
tainly  appeared  to  share  in  a  lesser  measure,  was 
now  removed.  He  was  there  apparently  on  familiar 
and  intimate  terms.  Could  it  be  possible  that  the 
change  in  their  circumstances  had  bent  the  proud 
spirits  of  the  father  and  daughter,  and  made  them 
willing  to  accept  addresses  for  her  now  which  they 
had  spurned  in  more  prosperous  days  ?  That  his 
name  had  been  connected  with  hers,  that  there  had 
been  a  closeness  of  connection  and  intimacy  between 
them  enough  to  excite  remark  and  gossip,  I  knew 
from  Ferguson's  insolence,  which  compelled  my  in 
terference,  at  the  Sachem's  Seat.  I  had  observed, 
too,  her  embarrassment  on  more  than  one  occasion 
when  he  had  been  spoken  of,  and  her  attempts  at  a 
partial  defence  of  him  from  the  strictures  of  her 
father. 

I  soon  rejected  all  that  was  unworthy  of  Eleanor 
and  her  father  in  these  surmises.  I  blushed  that  I 
had  ever  entertained  them.  It  lowered  me  in  my 
own  eyes.  But  still,  the  main  result  of  my  confer 
ence  with  myself  on  the  subject  was  the  same. 
Everything  confirmed  it.  His  coming  to  America 
at  this  time;  his  reserve  on  my  first  acquaintance  as 
to  his  relations  with  her ;  the  particularity  of  these 
relations  at  some  former  time,  proved  by  the  very 
coldness  and  distance  of  his  treatment  at  his  first 
visit  as  well  as  by  what  Ferguson  had  said;  her 


238  WENSLEY. 

own  looks  and  language  when  lie  was  in  question ; 
this  sudden  change  of  demeanor  towards  him ;  the 
earnest  tete-a-tete  I  had  interrupted,  —  all,  all  proved  . 
beyond  a  peradventure  that  whatever  had  parted 
them  was  removed,  —  that  Markham  was  the  favored, 
the  accepted  lover  of  Eleanor  Allerton. 

"Well,  suppose  he  was.  Was  it  anything  to  me  ? 
Could  she  ever  be  anything  to  me  more  than  the 
kindest  of  sisters  and  friends  ?  I  cursed  the  idea  of 
sisterhood  and  friendship.  An  hour  before,  I  should 
have  blessed  them.  The  scales  had  fallen  from  my 
eyes,  and  I  saw  that  they  were  not  what  I  wanted. 
I  cursed  the  hour  that  brought  me  to  Wensley ;  and 
the  next  moment  I  cursed  myself  for  the  thought, 
and  could  have  wept  to  think  of  never  having  known, 
though  but  to  lose  her  forever.  In  short,  I  was  furi 
ously  in  love  and  furiously  jealous,  and  was  guilty  of 
as  many  follies  as  my  predecessors  and  successors  in 
that  category.  Follies  are  they  ?  Perhaps  they  are  ; 
but  there  is  a  good  deal  of  what  passes  current  for 
wisdom  that  one  would  exchange  for  them  if  one 
could  —  ay,  and  give  boot  into  the  bargain. 

I  had  some  time  to  torment  myself  with  these 
thoughts  and  imaginations  before  the  Parson  re 
turned.  But  at  last  he  arrived,  chuckling  over  the 
success  of  his  mission,  which,  it  seemed,  had  resulted 
in  the  renewal  of  the  family  compact  between  the 
two  dynasties,  to  be  consolidated  by  the  marriage  of 
Jerry  and  Sukey  and  confirmed  by  the  sacrifice  of 
the  Hog's  Neck.  Mr.  Bulkley  was  so  full  of  his 


IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS  IS   MADE.  239 

story  that  he  did  not  remark  the  slight  attention  I 
gave  to  it,  though  it  was  garnished  by  many  of  his 
best  imitations  and  attended  by  a  running  accompa 
niment  of  his  merriest  laugh.  At  last,  however, 
when  he  was  entirely  done,  and  had  wiped  the  tears 
from  his  eyes,  which  always  waited  on  his  best 
laughs,  —  tears  like  those  of  Matthew,  "  of  one  worn 
out  with  mirth  and  laughter,"  —  he  suddenly  seemed 
to  catch  sight  of  my  face  as  of  some  new  thing. 

"  Bless  me,  Osborne  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  What  is 
the  matter  with  you  ?  Has  anything  happened  at 
Woodside  ?  Nothing  wrong  there,  I  hope." 

"  Everything  is  wrong  there  for  me,  sir,"  I  re 
plied,  bitterly;  and  then,  yielding  to  an  impulse 
which  seemed  to  urge  me  on  whether  I  would  or 
no,  I  told  him  the  whole  history  of  the  afternoon, 
of  the  revelation  which  it  had  made  to  me  of  myself, 
and  of  the  cruel  despair  in  which  it  had  left  me.  I 
have  said  before  that  the  minister  was  a  chosen 
confidant  of  love  troubles  within  his  own  juris 
diction  ;  and  I  now  felt  the  influence  upon  my  own 
mind  which  made  him  such.  I  do  not  think  that 
there  was  another  human  being  to  whom  I  could 
have  made  that  confession.  But  there  was  a  sweet 
ness  and  sympathy  of  soul  about  that  blessed  old 
man  that  invited  and  drew  forth  perfect  confidence. 
I  never  could  have  said  the  same  thing  to  any  of  the 
Deipnosophoi.  No,  indeed.  The  sense  of  the  ridi 
cule  which  is  so  often,  though  so  cruelly,  made  to 
wait  on  a  hopeless  passion,  bad  enough  in  itself, 


240  WENSLEY. 

heaven  knows,  would  have  sealed  my  lips  upon  the 
rack  But  such  an  idea  could  not  be  associated  with 
that  of  my  dear  old  friend.  Were  there  many  such 
priests  as  he,  I  should  accept  the  sacrament  of  con 
fession.  He  listened  to  my  story  with  the  tenderest 
interest  and  tried  to  give  me  what  comfort  he  could. 
But  I  thought  I  could  discern,  under  all  the  conso 
lation  and  encouragement  he  gave  me,  that  he  was 
of  my  opinion  in  the  matter.  Indeed,  he  gave  me 
no  direct  encouragement ;  only  he  soothed  my 
irritation  of  spirit  so  wisely,  and  showed  me  how  I 
might  have  been  too  hasty  in  my  conclusions,  after 
all,  that  it  had  the  effect  of  comforting  me. 

At  tea-time  I  could  hardly  help  laughing  through 
all  my  distress  to  see  how  the  good  old  man  pressed 
upon  me  the  best  of  everything  on  the-  table,  and 
made  Jasper  bring  out  his  choicest  stores,  reserved 
for  solemn  occasions.  If  the  very  .best  tea  in  the 
house,  and  preserves,  and  marmalade,  and  diet  bread 
(as  sponge-cake  used  to  be  called  in  those  days) 
were  a  specific  for  a  wounded  spirit,  mine  would 
have  been  whole  on  the  instant.  I  did  my  best, 
however,  to  satisfy  his  kind  intentions  ;  and  soon 
after  he  had  released  me  from  my  endeavors,  which 
hardly  came  up  to  his  wishes,  I  reminded  him  that 
Colonel  Allerton  wished  to  see  him  at  Woodside. 
I  was  still  inclined  to  remain  at  home;  but  he  would 
not  hear  of  it,  and  insisted  on  my  accompanying  him. 

We  arrived  before  the  Woodside  party  had  risen 
from  their  tea  table.  And  here  I  saw  again  that  the 


IN  WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS  IS   MADE.  241 

relations  of  the  parties  around  it  were  changed  since 
I  last  assisted  with  them  at  that  evening  sacrifice. 
Here  was  no  lap  tea,  but  a  well-spread,  sociable 
board,  around  which  the  three  sat  as  friends,  with 
every  appearance  of  entire  cordiality.  I  was  sorry 
I  had  agreed  to  come.  But  it  was  too  late  then; 
and  I  took  my  share  of  the  welcome  extended  to  us 
with  the  best  grace  I  could  assume.  I  could  feel 
with  "  the  sixth  sense  of  love "  that  Eleanor's  eyes 
were  often  fixed  upon  me  with  a  melancholy  earnest 
ness  when  I  was  looking  another  way ;  but  they 
were  dropped  or  withdrawn  before  mine  could  meet 
them.  I  despised  myself  for  being  the  object  of  her 
pity ;  and  I  could  see  that  Mr.  Bulkley  was  covertly 
watching  us ;  and  this  did  not  assist  in  the  preser 
vation  of  my  equanimity. 

We  soon  adjourned  to  the  Colonel's  room,  where 
his  wood  fire  gave  out  a  cheerful,  crackling,  dancing 
light,  in  which  we  sat  and  talked  over  what  was 
most  in  our  minds,  (or  rather  in  theirs,)  and  never 
thought  of  ringing  for  candles  till  it  was  nearly  time 
to  break  up  the  session.  I  did  not  attend  much  to 
what  was  going  forward ;  but  I  could  perceive  that 
the  talk  was  chiefly  on  the  possibility  of  making 
some  use  of  the  glimmer  of  light  Jasper  had  thrown 
upon  our  darkness,  and  whether  it  might  not  show 
us  a  way  out  of  our  perplexities.  After  a  brown 
study  of  some  duration,  during  which  I  sat  with 
my  eyes  fixed  on  the  blazing  logs  and  listening 
rather  to  the  spattering  hiss  with  which  the  sap 
16 


242  WENSLEY. 

exuded  from  them  upon  the  hearth  than  to  the 
discussions  going  on  around  them,  I  was  aroused 
from  it  by  hearing  the  minister  say,  — 

"An  excellent  plan,  indeed!  And  I'll  tell  you 
what  —  Osborne  shall  go  with  you.  He  is  entitled 
to  have  a  run  for  a  week  or  two ;  and  1 11  be 
answerable  for  him  to  the  authorities  at  Cam 
bridge." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  replied  Markham  ;  for  it 
appeared  that  the  remark  was  addressed  to  him  ;  "  it 
is  just  what  I  should  have  proposed  myself  if  the 
plan  went  forward.  What  say  you,  Osborne  ?  Will 
you  go  with  me  ? " 

"  Yes  —  certainly ;  that  is,"  I  stammered  out 
rather  uncertainly,  "  if  I  can  be  of  any  use  —  if 
Mr.  Bulkley  thinks  best." 

"  Oh,  I  do  think  it  best,  by  all  means,"  the  minister 
replied ;  "  so  consider  that  as  a  settled. thing." 

As  I  thought  I  might  as  well  know  what  the 
settled  thing  was  of  which  it  seemed  I  was  to  be 
a  component  part,  I  rallied  my  thoughts  and  tried 
to  fix  them  on  what  was  going  on ;  and  before  we 
parted  I  had  gathered  that  Mr.  Bulkley  had  inspired 
the  Colonel  with  a  portion  of  his  own  confident 
belief  that  Jasper's  information  might  be  followed 
up  to  some  good  result;  and  they  had  agreed  that 
Jasper  had  better  be  sent  to  the  spot  with  some 
judicious  person,  who  might  pursue  the  game  which 
he  might  by  possibility  set  on  foot.  Markham  at 
once  volunteered  to  be  the  judicious  person  afore- 


IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS   IS   MADE.  243 

said,  and  offered  to  set  off  on  the  shortest  notice ; 
and  it  was  as  an  amendment  to  this  suggestion  that 
the  minister  moved  that  my  name,  too,  should  be 
put  into  the  commission.  As  soon  as  I  understood 
how  it  was  I  fell  in  with  the  plan  with  a  feverish 
eagerness ;  for  I  was  just  in  the  state  of  mind 
when  motion  and  change  of  place  are  hungered 
and  thirsted  after.  I  felt  a  burning,  longing  wish 
to  be  anywhere  away  from  Wensley,  and  was  com 
forted  to  hear  that  we  should  set  out  the  follow 
ing  day. 

It  soon  grew  to  be  time  to  go ;  and  we  took  leave 
at  the  same  time  —  Mrr  Bulkley,  Markham,  and  I  — 
and  walked  to  the  turning  to  Grimes's  together.  I 
took  a  hasty  leave  of  Eleanor  and  her  father,  and 
resolutely  pushed  out  of  the  room  first,  so  as  to  give 
Markham  a  moment  with  her  without  the  Parson 
and  me  as  spectators,  which  I  considered  (and  do 
still  consider)  a  handsome  thing  on  my  part.  But 
he  followed  very  soon  after  us,  which  might  have 
surprised  rne  had  I  not  reflected,  that  he  would 
probably  walk  up  the  next  morning  to  renew  the 
"sweet  sorrow"  of  farewell.  This  hypothesis  did 
not  tend  to  concentrate  my  thoughts  on  what  was 
passing  between  my  companions ;  and  I  am  not  sure 
whether  it  was  during  this  walk,  that  the  Parson  ex 
tracted  from  Markham  the  secret  of  his  altered  rela 
tions  with  Woodside,  or  whether  it  was  during  the 
next  day's  journey  to  Boston.  But  the  facts  were 
briefly  these. 


244  WENSLEY. 

Markham's  brother,  the  clerk  in  the  colonial  office, 
had  just  written  to  him,  that  it  had  transpired  in 
the  office  that  it  was  Ferguson  himself  who  had  given 
Lord  Bathurst  the  hint  touching  the  trouble  in  Col 
onel  Allerton's  department,  which  had  induced  his 
lordship  to  enter  upon  the  cross-examination  the 
result  of  which  had  drawn  down  Colonel  Allerton's 
displeasure  on  poor  Markham's  head ;  and  Ferguson 
it  was  that  had  persuaded  Markham  that  it  was 
best  for  all  concerned  that  the  facts  should  be  made 
known  to  the  secretary,  though  it  was  done  so  skil 
fully,  that  he  could  deny  it  with  a  good  face  if  laid 
to  his  charge ;  and  Markham  now  remembered,  that 
it  was  Ferguson  that  contrived  the  accident  which 
took  him  to  the  colonial  office  that  particular  morn 
ing.  Having  received  this  intelligence,  and  hearing 
of  the  rumors  about  Colonel  Allerton  before  they 
had  got  wind  fully,  he  sent  it  at  once  to  Wensley 
with  all  these  explanations.  He  at  once  received  a 
cordial  invitation  to  repeat  his  visit,  which  he  lost  no 
time  in  doing,  and  had  a  very  different  reception 
from  the  one  he  had  before,  —  the  Allertons  looking 
upon  him  as  the  innocent  instrument  of  the  same 
man  who  had  wound  his  toils  about  themselves. 
They  acquitted  him  of  all  blame,  even  for  indiscre 
tion,  and  felt  the  desire  natural  to  generous  minds 
to  make  more  than  amends  to  one  whom  they  had 
treated  with  injustice.  So  he  said  to  us.  "  Amends 
with  a  vengeance  ! "  said  I  to  myself. 

The   next   morning   we   were  unable  to  take  the 


IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS  IS  MADE.  245 

Haverford  coach,  as  we  had  to  apprise  Jasper  of  his 
unexpected  expedition,  and  to  make  all  our  prepara 
tions.  Jasper  entered  into  the  plan  very  readily, 
only  doubting  how  his  master  would  get  on  by  him 
self.  But  when  he  found  that  this  difficulty  had 
been  provided  against  by  the  Allertons  insisting  upon 
his  becoming  their  guest  during  the  absence  of  the 
grand  vizier  (or  wuzeer,  as  they  ridiculously  spell  it 
now)  on  foreign  service,  his  scruples  were  at  once  at 
an  end,  and  he  lost  no  time  in  putting  the  house  in 
order  for  so  extraordinary  an  event.  As  we  wished 
to  make  what  despatch  we  could,  we  resolved  not 
to  wait  for  the  Pentland  coach,  which  came  along 
towards  night,  but  to  put  Black  Sally  into  the  Major's 
covered  wagon,  and  get  over  the  ground  before  night. 
When  we  had  come  to  this  conclusion  Mr.  Bulkley 
suddenly  expressed  his  determination  to  accompany 
us  as  far  as  Boston.  He  should  like  the  excursion, 
he  said  ;  and  he  thought  he  could  manage  to  drive 
Sally  back  again  by  himself  the  next  day  or  the  day 
after.  Of  course  we  were  glad  enough  to  have  his 
society  —  at  least  I  was ;  for  I  did  not  care  for  a 
tete-a-tete  journey  with  Markham  after  all  that  had 
passed.  And  I  shrewdly  suspect  that  it  was  the 
feeling  that  this  was  the  case,  that  induced  him  to 
volunteer  his  company. 

We  arrived  before  dark,  and,  after  putting  our 
horse  up  at  the  Exchange  Coffee  House  stables,  and 
bespeaking  our  passage  by  the  Providence  coach  for 
the  next  morning,  I  proceeded  at  once  to  Mr.  Moul- 


246  WEKSLEY. 

ton's,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Bulkley,  to  obtain  his 
permission  for  the  expedition.  There  was  no  great 
difficulty  in  procuring  this  on  the  representations  of 
the  good  minister,  for  whom  my  guardian  had  con 
ceived  a  warm  regard.  I  did  not  pay  much  attention 
to  the  reasons  he  urged  in  my  favor ;  but  I  well  un 
derstood  in  my  secret  soul,  that  the  real  ones  which 
induced  him  to  make  the  original  suggestion  were 
not  so  much  the  expectation  of  good  to  the  Allertons 
as  of  good  to  myself,  which  might  accrue  from  this 
diversion  of  thought  and  passion.  However,  the 
consent  was  granted,  and  Mr.  Bulkley  prevailed  upon 
to  be  Mr.  Moulton's  guest  for  the  night.  Markham 
did  not  come,  though  I  had  invited  him.  He  is 
writing  to  Eleanor,  said  I  to  myself;  and  the 
glass  of  wine  I  had  at  my  lips  (though  it  was  the 
famous  old  Suffolk  Madeira)  almost  choked  me  at 
the  thought. 

The  next  morning  came  in  due  season.  Who  does 
not  remember,  that  is  old  enough,  the  morning  of  a 
journey  to  New  York  in  those  days  before  railways  ? 
I  had  slept  but  little  during  the  night ;  and  was  just 
fairly  asleep,  about  four  in  the  morning,  wheu  a 
thundering  knock  at  the  hall-door  and  a  violent  ring 
at  the  bell  announced  that  the  coach  would  soon 
come  lumbering  along.  Then  the  dressing  in  the 
dark,  the  half-awake,  slipshod  servants,  making  a 
pretence  of  getting  you  some  breakfast,  which  was 
always  just  too  late ;  the  dressing-gowned  and  slip 
pered  friends  (Mr.  Moulton  and  the  Parson  in  my 


IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS   IS  MADE.  247 

case)  stumbling  out  upon  you  to  see  you  off  in  spite 
of  your  entreaties  overnight,  that  they  would  do  no 
such  thing.  Then  the  long,  hot  or  cold,  dusty  or 
muddy,  never  pleasant  journey  to  Providence.  And 
then  the  old  Fulton  steamer.  How  we  used  to  admire 
her !  What  a  marvel  of  speed  and  comfort  that  ill- 
contrived  old  hulk  seemed  to  our  innocent  minds, 
not  as  yet  sophisticate  with  the  later  luxuries  of  loco 
motion  !  To  be  sure,  it  was  better  than  the  week's 
hard  coaching,  which  was  necessary  to  bring  the  two 
cities  together  before  her  time.  And  New  York 
itself, —  Newest  York  now,  —  how  changed  since 
that  my  first  visit !  Her  very  caravanserais  have 
fled,  like  the  sojourn ers  of  a  day.  Where  is  Bunk 
er's  ?  Echo,  if  she  could  make  herself  heard  above 
the  roar  of  traffic,  might  answer,  if  she  had  nothing 
better  to  say,  Where  ?  And  where  is  the  City  Hotel  ? 
Oh,  Chester  Jennings,  art  thou  indeed  forever  fled  ? 
And  the  Park  Theatre  too  ?  But  I  forbear. 

We  hurried  through  New  York  and  put  ourselves 
on  the  road  to  Williamsboro'  with  all  the  speed  we 
could  command  in  those  more  deliberate  days.  But 
it  took  us  nearly  two  days,  as  the  roads  were  bad, 
and  the  wagons,  bearing  the  local  rank  of  coaches, 
yet  worse.  But  here  Jasper  made  our  fatigues  less 
with  the  stories  he  had  to  tell,  suggested  by  almost 
every  point  of  our  route;  for  he  was  now  among 
familiar  scenes.  There,  a  mile  or  two  on  this  side 
of  Hackensack,  he  had  first  smelt  gunpowder,  one 
cold  autumnal  night,  in  a  slight  affair  of  outposts. 


248  WENSLEY. 

Farther  on,  it  was  coming  out  of  that  house  that  he 
had  first  seen  General  Washington.  And  at  Morris- 
town,  where  we  spent  the  night,  he  showed  us,  not 
only  the  head-quarters  of  the  commander-in-chief, 
but  the  very  baker's  shop  over  which  he  himself  had 
been  billeted.  And  it  happened,  oddly  enough,  that 
the  business  was  still  carried  on  by  the  baker's  son,  a 
boy  at  that  time,  but  who  perfectly  remembered  the 
sable  guest  of  his  father.  The  next  day  we  got  more 
and  more,  as  we  advanced  into  his  own  country,  and 
he  had  a  history  for  almost  every  house  we  passed. 
It  seemed  to  have  been  a  region  fertile  in  Tories ; 
for  his  narratives  were  mostly  of  that  tribe,  which 
was  to  him  as  that  of  Barabbas.  We  arrived  at 
Williamsboro'  too  late  to  push  on  to  the  scene  of 
our  inquiries  that  night. 

The  next  morning  we  took  an  open  wagon  and 
pair  and  proceeded  onward.  Jasper's  interest  in  all 
the  scenes  about  him  now  grew  intense.  He  had  not 
seen  them  for  nearly  fifty  years ;  and  he  seemed  to^ 
remember  them  and  to  cling  to  their  memory  with 
the  strong  local  attachment  of  his  race.  We  sympa 
thized  so  strongly  with  his  feelings,  that,  though  in 
impatient  haste  ourselves,  we  proposed  a  stop  at  the 
house  of  the  Cuyler  family,  where  he  was  born. 
But  here  he  was  doomed  to  disappointment.  The 
house  was  there,  to  be  sure  ;  but  it  was  degraded 
into  a  mere  farm-house,  and  not  a  well-appointed  one 
neither.  It  had  a  decayed,  tumble- down  look;  and 
the  out-buildings  and  fences  were  sadly  out  of  repair. 


IN  WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS  IS  MADE.  249 

A  shrewish-looking  woman,  not  over  clean,  sharply 
asked  our  business ;  and  her  inquiry  was  enforced  by 
half  a  dozen  hungry,  snarling  curs,  who  opened  mouth 
upon  us  in  full  cry ;  while  a  swarm  of  dirty  children 
clustered  about  the  door,  staring  over  one  another's 
heads  at  the  rare  spectacle  of  strangers.  She  did 
not  seem  particularly  well  satisfied  with  the  account 
we  had  to  give  of  ourselves ;  and,  though  she  called 
off  the  dogs  and  did  not  order  us  to  leave  the  prem 
ises,  she  kept  a  suspicious  eye  upon  us  as  we  looked 
about  them. 

But  there  was  not  much  to  detain  us.  The  only 
thing  that  recalled  the  former  state  of  the  Cuylers 
was  the  old  chariot  of  the  family,  which  stood  rot 
ting  to  pieces  in  a  dilapidated  coach-house  with  one 
door  off  its  hinges,  and  which,  if  not  a  habitation  for 
dragons  and  owls,  was  clearly  one  for  cats  and  chick 
ens  —  a  litter  of  kittens  garrisoning  the  inside ;  while 
the  outworks  bore  unmistakable  evidence  of  being  a 
roosting  place  for  poultry.  There  had  plainly  not 
been  energy  enough  to  clear  away  this  old  piece  of 
lumber,  as  it  must  have  seemed  to  the  occupants. 
The  woman  of  the  house  rather  apologized  for  its 
toleration  by  saying  that  the  children  liked  to  play  in 
it.  But  she  had  no  knowledge  of  its  former  owners. 
She  came  from  Pennsylvania,  she  said,  and  had  never 
heard  of  the  Cuylers.  The  very  name  of  the  family 
seemed  to  have  died  out  even  upon  their  ancestral 
acres.  We  left  the  place  almost  as  sad  as  Jasper 
himself. 


250  WENSLEY. 

We  hastened  on,  and,  crossing  the  Kill,  soon  ar 
rived  at  the  house  where  the  Michael  St.  John,  the 
unconscious  cause  of  so  much  trouble  to  us  all,  had 
lived.  Jasper  led  us  directly  to  its  door,  as  he  had 
said  he  could,  without  inquiry  or  hesitation.  And 
here  we  received  a  very  different  welcome  from  our 
last  from  John  McCormick,  its  present  owner.  He 
was  a  hale,  middle-aged  man,  of  a  cheerful  and  intel 
ligent  countenance,  and  well  disposed  to  give  us  what 
information  and  assistance  he  could.  It  did  not  seem 
to  be  much,  however.  St.  John  had  never  returned 
to  that  part  of  the  country,  the  father  of  McCormick 
having  bought  the  farm  of  the  State,  by  which  it 
had  been  confiscated;  and  he  knew  nothing  of  the 
particulars  of  his  fate.  This  seemed  to  be  death 
to  our  hopes.  We  looked  with  blank  disappoint 
ment  in  one  another's  faces;  and  Mr.  McCormick 
went  on:  — 

"  There  has  been  inquiry  made  about  this  St.  John 
before ;  and  if  my  father  and  I  had  not  possessed  this 
farm  for  more  than  forty  years,  I  should  think  there 
was  some  design  upon  it." 

"And,  pray,  when  and  by  whom  was  there  ever 
inquiry  made  about  him  ? "  asked  Markham,  with 
the  air  of  a  man  catching  at  a  straw. 

"It  was  ten  or  a  dozen  years  ago,"  McCormick 
replied.  "There  was  a  man  came  from  York  way 
who  hunted  up  everything  that  could  be  found  out 
about  him  from  town  records,  parish  registers,  and 
what  not.  He  didn't  make  much  noise  about  it ;  but, 


IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS   IS   MADE.  251 

as  I  thought  it  might  concern  my  title-deeds,  I  kept 
an  eye  on  him  and  found  out  what  he  was  at." 

"And  do  you  know  his  name  ?"  asked  Markhain, 
eagerly. 

"  His  name  ?  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  Let  me  see. 
Yes,  his  name  was  Abrahams ;  he  was  a  sort  of  Jew 
lawyer,  I  believe." 

Markham  and  I  looked  at  each  other.  It  was  the 
name  of  the  agent  in  New  York  who  used  to  draw 
the  pensions. 

"Abrahams  ! "  said  Markham.  "  Arid  do  you  know 
anything  further  about  him,  or  where  we  should  be 
likely  to  find  out  where  he  is  ? " 

But  he  knew  nothing  on  the  subject ;  and  we  were 
in  the  dumps  again.  We  liked  the  appearance  and 
frankness  of  McCormick  so  much,  that,  after  a  con 
sultation  of  looks  between  Markham  and  me,  he 
briefly  stated  to  him  our  case  and  how  important  it 
was  to  us  that  this  man  should  be  found,  he  being 
unquestionably  the  accessory  to  the  fraud  on  this  side 
the  water.  He  could  give  us  no  clew  to  what  we 
wanted  ;  and  we  talked  over  the  matter  in  a  spirit  of 
despair.  Presently  Jasper  said,  — 

"  You  say  he  was  a  Jew,  sir  ? "  McCormick  as 
sented.  "  And  his  name  was  Abrahams  ?  I  wonder 
if  he*  could  be  the  son  of  Aaron  Abrahams,  who  was 
a  commissary  in  the  year  seventy-seven  ? " 

"  His  name  was  Aaron,  I  remember,"  said  McCor 
mick  ;  and  so  did  we. 

"  Did  you  know  him  ? "  said  I. 


252  WENSLEY. 

"  Know  him  !  "  repeated  Jasper.  "  I  guess  I  had 
reason  to  know  him.  I  know  he  almost  starved  us  ; 
and  would  quite,  had  not  a  lot  of  our  men  threatened 
to  burn  his  house  down  about  his  ears  for  him.  They 
tried  to  do  it,  too.  Ben  Sinipkins  was  hanged  for  it, 
poor  fellow  ! " 

"  Then  you  know  where  he  lived  ? "  asked  Mark- 
ham  and  I  in  a  breath. 

"  I  guess  I  do,"  he  answered,  laughing.  "  I  mounted 
guard  there  for  a  month  after  poor  Ben  was  hanged. 
And  I  lived  well,  too,  I  tell  ye ;  for  they  was  awfully 
frightened." 

"  And  where  was  it  ?  "  we  all  asked  at  once. 

"It  was  down  Monmouth  way,"  said  Jasper,  "not 
far  from  Horseshoe  Inlet,  near  where  the  Falmouth 
was  wrecked.  It  was  an  awful  wrecking- place,  and 
old  Abrahams's  house  was  full  of  cabin  furniture  and 
things.  Folks  said  he  had  got  rich  by  wrecking.  He 
was  rich,  any  way.  But  I  don't  believe  such  riches  is 
any  good  to  people." 

We  looked  at  one  another  again  and  with  more 
hopeful  faces.  To  be  sure,  it  was  not  much  to  hope 
about ;  but  it  was  better  than  nothing.  Jasper  seemed 
really  to  be  our  guardian  angel ;  though  poor  Tom 
might  have  called  him  a  black  one.  We  held  a  con 
sultation  over  this  hint,  and  resolved,  as  we  did  not 
know  what  better  to  do,  that  we  would  follow  it  up 
and  see  whether  we  could  get  any  trace  of  Abrahams 
in  that  neighborhood.  It  was  the  faintest  of  possi 
bilities  ;  but,  as  we  had  been  disappointed  in  our 


IN  WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS   IS   MADE.  253 

discoveries  at  this  place,  we  were  impatient  to  be  try 
ing  after  them  in  some  other.  I  felt  relief  only  in 
motion,  and  was  in  haste  to  be  off. 

McConnick  pressed  us  to  stay  until  after  dinner ; 
in  which  case  he  agreed  to  accompany  us,  with  a 
reasonable  compensation  for  his  time,  the  rather  as  the 
heaviest  of  the  harvesting  was  now  over.  Markham 
had  made  this  proposition  to  him  when  it  first  occurred 
to  us  to  continue  our  search,  inasmuch  as  it  would  be 
convenient,  if  not  essential,  to  have  some  one  of  the 
party  able  to  identify  Abrahams  if  he  could  be  over 
taken.  So  we  yielded  to  his  hospitable  urgency  and 
partook  of  a  plentiful  Jersey  farmer's  dinner,  presided 
over  by  his  eldest  unmarried  daughter,  a  fine  girl  of 
eighteen,  his  wife  having  been  dead  for  several  years. 
He  was  urgent,  furthermore,  that  we  should  spend  the 
night  there  and  commence  our  journey  fresh  in  the 
morning.  But  we  would  not  hearken  to  this  proposal ; 
and,  according  to  our  first  plan,  we  set  off  about  two 
in  the  afternoon,  our  host  with  Markham  in  his  own 
wagon  and  pair  of  stout  black  horses,  and  Jasper  and 
I  in  the  one  we  had  brought  from  Morristown  —  hav 
ing  first  sent  information  of  our  intentions  to  the 
owner,  so  that  we  need  not  have  the  hue-and-cry  after 
us  as  horse-thieves. 

In  this  order  we  traversed  nearly  the  entire  length 
of  the  State.  It  took  us  nearly  three  days  to  accomplish 
it.  I  had  purposely  chosen  Jasper  as  my  companion, 
because  I  could  talk  with  him  or  be  silent  as  I  pleased. 
I  was  moody  enough  for  the  first  part  of  the  way ; 


254  WENSLEY. 

but,  when  we  got  upon  the  line  of  operations  of  the 
campaigns  of  '76  and  '77,  I  could  not  help  being 
diverted  from  the  gloomy  train  of  my  own  thoughts 
by  the  lively  reminiscences  of  my  companion.  He 
was  familiar  with  the  whole  of  the  ground ;  and  it 
was  like  having  been  part  of  those  movements  one's 
self  to  hear  his  account  of  them.  It  was  the  little 
personal  details  proper  to  himself  that  gave  this  De- 
Foeish  air  of  reality  to  his  narrations. 

When  we  were  passing  over  the  battle-field  of 
Monmouth,  for  instance,  —  "  It  was  about  here,"  said 
he,  "  that  I  was  coming  up  with  the  reserve  when 
General  Washington  came  riding  back  from  the  front, 
where  he  had  been  on  a  lookout.  It  was  an  awful 
hot  day ;  and  he  pulled  up  by  me  and  says,  says  he, 
'  Jasper/  says  he  (for  he  had  seen  me  often  with  Col 
onel  Cuyler  when  he  was  alive,  and  had  slept  under 
the  same  tent  with  me,  bless  you,  the  night  before  we 
got  to  Morristown), '  Jasper,'  says  he,  '  what  have  you 
got  in  your  canteen  ? '  '  Rum  and  water,  sir,'  says  I. 
'  Very  good,'  says  he  ;  '  let  me  have  some.'  I  took  it 
off  and  reached  it  to  him.  '  Take  a  drink  first  your 
self/  says  he  (that,  you  know,  was  because  somebody 
had  tried  to  poison  him  just  before).  So  I  took  a 
pull ;  and  so  did  he,  a  good  one  too,  after  me ;  and 
then  we  went  into  action." 

Farther  on  towards  the  sea-coast,  too,  his  knowl 
edge  continued  fresh ;  for  he  had  been  stationed  in 
that  quarter  to  keep  the  Tories  in  order  during  the 
spring  of  '77,  after  the  successes  at  Trenton  and 


IN  WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS  IS  MADE.  255 

Princeton  (in  both  of  which  he  partook)  had  in 
duced  Sir  William  Howe  to  evacuate  the  Jerseys. 
Towards  night  on  the  third  day  we  reached  a  shabby 
little  village,  or  rather  hamlet,  not  far  from  the  shore, 
called  Sinkers  —  a  place  of  a  very  evil  reputation  as 
the  head-quarters  of  wreckers  of  the  worst  description, 
who  in  those  days,  not  to  say  in  these,  too,  infested 
that  "  shipwrecked  coast."  At  the  wretched  tavern 
which  dispensed  their  daily  rum  to  these  worthy  citi 
zens,  and  at  which  we  were  compelled  to  put  up,  we 
directed  Jasper  to  try  and  find  out  what  he  could 
about  this  tribe  of  Abrahams  without  exciting  notice. 
This  he  easily  did  while  busy  about  the  horses  in  the 
stable ;  and  he  soon  came  to  us  with  the  unexpected 
intelligence  that  the  commissary  was  yet  living  at  his 
old  house,  though  much  reduced  from  his  former  flagi 
tious  prosperity,  as  Jasper  had  esteemed  it. 

Encouraged  beyond  our  hopes  by  this  news,  we 
sent  him  forward  that  night  to  reconnoitre  his  old 
ground  and  find  how  matters  stood.  When  he  returned 
he  reported  that  he  had  attempted  an  entrance,  but 
had  been  repulsed  by  the  very  commissary  whom  he 
had  helped  to  guard  in  former  days.  He  could  not,  or 
would  not.  remember  any  such  service  ;  and  refused 
to  acknowledge  any  gratitude  for  it  or  to  admit  him 
to  whom  he  owed  it  into  his  house. 

"  There  was  sickness  there,"  he  said ;  "  he  could  not 
come  in.  There  was  a  tavern  at  Sinkers ;  he  might 
go  there."  The  noise  of  this  discussion  brought  up 
the  effective  reserve  of  Mrs.  Abrahams,  an  aged 


256  WENSLEY. 

matron  among  the  daughters  of  Israel,  who  opened  a 
fire  of  flying  artillery  upon  him,  which  soon  made  him 
beat  a  retreat.  "  What  business  had  he  to  come  there 
at  that  time  of  night  disturbing  them,  and  they  with  a 
son  at  the  point  of  death  in  the  house  ?  If  he  did  n't 
take  himself  off  they  'd  let  fly  the  blunderbuss  at  him 
for  a  black  rascal  as  he  was."  And  much  more  of 
the  same  sort. 

So  Jasper  did  take  himself  off,  and  reported  pro 
gress  as  above.  Matters  seemed  now  to  be  in  the 
train  we  had  long  wished  for.  We  considered  what 
step  to  take  next,  and  agreed  that  the  time  had  come 
for  the  interposition  of  the  civil  arm  if  we  could  get 
hold  of  it.  We  were  for  looking  up  the  nearest  mag 
istrate  ;  but  McCormick  dissuaded  us,  on  the  ground 
that  it  would  be  better  to  procure  one  from  a  little 
farther  off  the  coast.  So  we  gladly  assented  to  his 
proposal  that  he  should  mount  one  of  his  horses  and 
ride  back  to  Monmouth  and  apply  to  "  an  honest 
lawyer,"  as  he  termed  him,  whom  he  had  had  deal 
ings  with,  to  come  over  and  help  us.  The  next 
morning  early  he  accordingly  appeared  with  this 
phenomenon,  Mr.  Sturdevant  by  name,  and  an  offi 
cer,  in  case  of  need.  About  ten  o'clock  we  pro 
ceeded  to  the  scene  of  action.  We  left  the  large 
covered  wagon  at  the  foot  of  the  steep,  sandy  hill, 
just  on  the  other  side  of  which  Abrahams's  house 
stood,  and  walked  up  it,  both  for  the  sake  of  speed 
and  secrecy.  Jasper  was  to  bring  it  slowly  after 
us. 


IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS  IS   MADE.  257 

Arrived  at  the  door  of  the  house,  it  was  some  min 
utes  before  we  could  effect  an  entrance.  We  were 
aware  that  we  were  reconnoitred;  and  it  was  not  until 
we  made  an  assault  on  the  door  that  threatened  to 
bring  it  down  that  it  was  at  length  opened  by  old 
Abrahams  himself.  He  would  fain  have  held  parley 
with  us ;  but  we  pushed  by  him  into  the  room  at  our 
right,  of  which  the  door  was  open,  and  which  proved 
to  be  the  kitchen,  but  yet  the  apartment  usually 
occupied  by  the  family.  Here  we  made  a  stop,  and 
the  old  man  had  time  to  ask  us  our  business.  To 
this,  under  the  circumstances,  not  unreasonable  re 
quest,  Mr.  Sturdevant  stated  that  our  business  was 
with  his  son  Aaron,  whom  we  knew  to  be  in  the 
house.  He  denied  the  fact,  and  fortified  his  denial 
by  a  volley  of  imprecations  more  appropriate  to  the 
character  of  a  Christian  than  of  a  Jew. 

Mr.  Sturdevant  intimated  to  him  that  he  had  the 
necessary  process  and  officer,  and  should  proceed  at 
once  to  satisfy  himself  by  a  search  of  the  premises. 
Old  Abrahams  seemed  greatly  alarmed  at  this  infor 
mation  ;  and,  changing  his  tone,  begged  to  know  why 
it  was  that  this  perquisition  was  set  on  foot.  He  was 
informed  that  it  was  on  a  charge  of  being  concerned 
as  principal  or  accessory  in  an  important  forgery. 
This  naturally  enough  increased  the  old  man's  dis 
tress  ;  but  he  still  persisted  in  maintaining  that  his 
son  was  not  there,  but  with  less  voluble  assurance. 
At  this  point  the  wife,  the  very  heroine  who  had  routed 
Jasper  and  put  him  to  flight,  came  in  by  a  door 
17 


258  WENSLEY. 

opening  into  the  kitchen,  and  said,  disregarding  the 
signals  telegraphed  to  her  by  her  husband, — 

"  And  what  do  you  want  here  ?  What  business 
have  you  to  disturb  an  honest  man's  house  in  this 
way  ?  Are  you  the  gang  of  that  black  rascal  that 
tried  to  break  in  here  last  night  ?  Don't  you  know 
that  there 's  a  sick  man  in  the  house  ?  Get  off  with 
you,  or  you  '11  be  the  death  of  my  poor  son.  He 's 
been  plagued  enough  already  this  morning,  poor 
fellow,  and  you  '11  finish  him  ! " 

This  is  a  very  faint  copy  of  the  tirade  with 
which  she  favored  us,  and  which  seemed  to  pro 
duce  more  effect  on  her  husband  than  on  us.  He 
stamped  with  his  feeble  foot,  and  clinched  his 
fist  impotently,  more  at  her  than  at  us,  but  said 
nothing. 

"We  must  see  your  son,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Stur- 
devant,  kindly,  but  firmly. 

"You  shall  do  no  such  thing,"  the  dame  re 
sponded  as  resolutely,  setting  her  back  against  the 
door. 

"  It  must  be  done,  ma'am,"  he  continued,  in  the 
same  tone;  "but  it  shall  be  done  as  quietly  and 
with  as  little  disturbance  to  him  as  possible." 

He  then  gently  removed  her,  though  she  strug 
gled  violently  and  made  a  resistance  which  saved 
the  credit  of  her  courage  and  spirit,  although  she 
had  to  yield  to  a  superior  force.  We  pushed 
through  a  narrow  passage,  at  the  end  of  which  was 
a  door  opening  into  a  bed-chamber,  where  lay  the 


IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS   IS   MADE.  259 

man  we  were  in  search  of,  propped  by  pillows, 
and  testifying  by  his  looks  to  the  truth  of  what 
we  had  heard  as  to  his  condition.  As  soon  as  we 
had  looked  at  him,  our  eyes  all  involuntarily 
turned  upon  McCorinick,  who  signified  by  a  nod 
and  look  that  he  was  the  man  we  were  after. 

Having  received  this  confirmation,  Mr.  Sturde- 
vant  approached  the  bedside  of  the  sick  man  to 
open  his  business.  Just  at  this  moment  we  heard 
a  loud  noise,  in  which  Jasper's  tones  were  dis 
tinguishable,  as  if  there  were  some  difficulty  on 
his  line  of  inarch.  At  Markham's  request,  Mc- 
Cormick  went  out  to  see  what  the  matter  was, 
while  we  remained  to  see  the  main  play  played 
out.  Mr.  Sturdevant  had  not  advanced  very  far 
in  his  cautious  statement  of  the  reason  of  our 
bein0"  there,  when  we  heard  loud  voices  and  foot- 

o  » 

steps  approaching  the  house.     Jasper's  and  McCor- 
mick's  voices  were  soon  heard  in  the  kitchen ;  and 
Markham  and  I  forthwith  went  thither  to  see  what 
had   happened.      Jasper  we  found  sitting  on  a  rush- 
bottomed  chair,  with  one  arm  over  the  back,  look 
ing  very  faint,  while  a  stream  of   blood  was  drib 
bling  down  from  the  ends  of  his  fingers  upon  the 
floor.     But  this  spectacle  did  not  hold  us  long  when 
we  looked  at  the  third  person  of  the  party. 
"  Ferguson  ! "  exclaimed  Markham. 
I  was  too  much  amazed  to  say  anything, 
"  Yes,  sir,  Ferguson ! "  the  other  repeated  fiercely. 
"And  I  should  like  to  know  whether  it  was  you 


2GO  WENSLEY. 

that  set  this  black  ruffian  upon  me  as  I  was  peace 
ably  upon  the  highway." 

Markham  and  I  looked  at  each  other,  not  know 
ing  exactly  what  to  say,  when  the  magistrate  came 
out  of  the  sick-chamber,  and  we  briefly  explained 
the  facts.  He  turned  to  McCormick,  who  only  said 
that  he  had  found  Jasper  and  this  man  struggling 
together  on  the  ground,  the  former  wounded  and 
bleeding,  and  had  merely  interposed  and  brought 
them  both  along  to  the  house;  which  he  was  quite 
competent  to  do,  though  Ferguson  was  a  strong  man. 
We  all  now  turned  to  Jasper,  who  said,  rather 
feebly,— 

"First  tie  a  handkerchief  tight  round  my  arm, 
just  below  the  shoulder."  This  was  done  at  once. 
"  Now,  Master  Frank,"  he  went  on,  "  put  your 
walking-stick  through  the  bandage  and  give  it  a 
hard  turn,  and  hold  it  so."  I  did  as  I  was  di 
rected  ;  and  this  extemporized  tourniquet,  which 
Jasper  had  learned  in  the  hospital,  stopped  the 
bleeding.  A  small  exhibition  of  brandy,  of  which 
medicine  McCorrnick  happened  accidentally  to  have 
a  moderate  supply  about  him  for  emergencies,  re 
stored  poor  Jasper  to  the  speaking  point. 

The  amount  of  his  information  was,  that  as  he 
was  slowly  coming  down  the  sandy  hill,  having 
stopped  for  some  time  on  the  top  to  rest  the  horses, 
he  saw  a  window  of  the  Jew's  house  open,  and  a 
man  jump  out  of  it  and  hurry  up  the  hill  towards 
himself.  It  immediately  occurred  to  him  that  this 


IN  WHICH   GREAT  PROGRESS  IS  MADE.  261 

must  be  the  very  man  we  were  after ;  and,  accord 
ingly,  he  appointed  himself  to  the  service  of  cutting 
off  his  retreat.  This  he  found  to  be  one  of  no  lit 
tle  difficulty  and  of  some  danger,  inasmuch  as  his 
antagonist  drew  a  knife  after  they  had  closed,  and 
stabbed  him  in  the  arm ;  and,  had  not  McCormick 
come  to  his  assistance,  the  enemy  would  have  made 
good  his  escape. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Ferguson,  "this  is  all 
true  enough ;  but  what  objection  have  you  to  make 
to  what  I  did?  I  merely  defended  myself  when 
attacked,  without  provocation,  on  the  highway." 

But  Mr.  Sturdevant  intimated  that  his  sudden 
exit  from  Abrahams's  window,  taken  in  connection 
with  the  known  circumstances  of  the  case,  would 
justify  his  detention  for  further  inquiry. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  Ferguson ;  "  you  know  that 
you  act  at  your  own  peril ;  and  you  may  be  assured 
I  shall  exact  all  the  redress  I  can  get." 

Mr.  Sturdevant  merely  bowed  his  acquiescence, 
and  said,  "  But  you  also  know,  sir,  that  I  must  have 
your  person  searched.  Anything  not  bearing  upon 
this  case  will  be  immediately  returned  to  you."  And 
he  called  the  officer  from  the  bed-chamber. 

At  this  announcement  Ferguson  turned  pale  as 
death,  and,  hastily  putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket, 
drew  out  a  crumpled  packet  of  papers  and  threw 
them  on  the  fire.  Luckily  it  was  an  economical 
household,  and  the  fire  was  but  newly  kindled. 
Ferguson  sprung  forward  to  strike  them  into  the 


UNIVERSITY 


262  WENSLEY. 

coals  with  the  heel  of  his  boot,  but  was  held  back 
by  McCormick ;  while  I  snatched  them,  only  a  little 
singed  from  the  flames.  This  authorized  more  em 
phatically  his  being  taken  into  custody,  which  was 
formally  done.  But  the  papers  did  not  afford  us 
much  light  at  the  first  glance,  as  they  were  writ 
ten  in  cipher,  and  were  Sanscrit  to  us.  After  a  brief 
consultation  aside,  Mr.  Sturdevant  returned  alone  to 
the  sick  Jew's  chamber,  taking  the  manuscripts  with 
him.  We  remained  busy  in  taking  care  of  poor 
Jasper,  who  seemed  very  weak,  and  in  keeping  guard 
over  Ferguson.  But  his  spirit  seemed  to  have  de 
serted  him.  He  appeared  as  one  stunned,  and  sat 
in  gloomy  silence  at  the  table,  leaning  his  head  on 
both  his  hands.  Markham  and  I  exchanged  looks 
of  congratulation"  —  believing,  though  we  did  not 
know  how,  that  a  way  of  deliverance  was  opened 
before  us. 

It  was  long  before  Sturdevant  returned  to  us,  so 
long  that  we  had  despatched  McCormick  for  a  sur 
geon,  who  had  dressed  Jasper's  arm  and  departed  be 
fore  the  magistrate  appeared.  But  we  had  not  waited 
in  vain.  I  have  not  time  to  go  into  the  detail  of  all 
the  particulars ;  for  it  is  high  time  that  the  thread, 
too  long  spun  out,  of  this  narrative  should  be  snipped 
off.  But  of  course  everybody  whose  memory  (Heaven 
pity  them  ! )  can  extend  back  thirty  years  will  remem 
ber  all  about  the  story,  which  made  a  nine  days' 
wonder  in  this  country,  and  a  week's  even  in  Eng 
land.  Any  one  that  will  take  the  trouble  to  consult 


IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS  IS  MADE.  263 

a  file  of  the  London  Times  of  that  date  will  find  all 
the  documents,  letters,  and  affidavits,  with  the  offi 
cial  exoneration  of  Colonel  Allerton,  at  full  length. 
As  near  as  I  remember  them,  —  for  my  mind  was 
not  entirely  engrossed  by  them  even  at  the  time,  — 
they  were  substantially  these  :  — 

Ferguson,  from  his  knowledge  of  that  department 
and  of  the  parties  likely  to  obtain  relief  from  the  gov 
ernment,  had  planned  this  St.  John  forgery,  and 
several  other  lesser  ones,  and  had  found  an  apt  in 
strument  in  Mr.  Aaron  Abrahams.  This  gentleman 
had  transacted  the  American  part  of  the  business 
more  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  employer  than  his  own, 
inasmuch  as  he  did  not  think  he  was  allowed  his  full 
share  of  the  booty.  The  communications  between 
them  were  carried  on  in  cipher  after  the  very  begin 
ning,  which  was  arranged  when  Ferguson  was  in  New 
York  on  a  former  visit  undertaken  for  the  purpose. 
After  the  suspicions  of  Colonel  Allerton  had  been  ex 
cited,  Abrahams,  who  had  received  instant  notice  of 
them  from  Ferguson,  took  himself  out  of  the  way  until 
the  storm  should  blow  over — this  being  undoubtedly 
Ferguson's  object  when  he  advised  a  delay  in  com 
municating  the  facts  to  the  secretary.  So  effectually 
had  Abrahams  done  this,  that  Ferguson  himself  had 
great  difficulty  in  tracing  him ;  for  he  seems  to  have 
had  no  great  confidence  in  his  English  confederate ; 
and  it  was  not  until  his  illness  took  him  back  to  his 
father's  house  that  he  fairly  came  up  with  him. 

The  object   he   had  to  gain  was  twofold :  first  to 


264  WENSLEY. 

arrange  Abrahams's  testimony  so  that  it  should  throw 
the  whole  blame  on  Colonel  Allerton ;  and,  secondly, 
to  get  possession  of  the  letters  in  cipher,  which  con 
tained  his  instructions  to  his  agent  during  the  whole 
transaction.  In  these  laudable  pursuits  he  had  been 
engaged  for  a  day  or  two  at  such  times  as  he  could 
have  access  to  the  sick  man,  and  in  these  he  was  busy 
when  our  opportune  arrival  interrupted  him  ;  and  he 
had  succeeded  so  far  as  to  induce  Abrahams  to  pro 
duce  the  letters  (which  he  always  kept  with  him)  on 
some  pretence,  but  with  the  unquestionable  purpose 
of  getting  possession  of  them  by  force  or  fraud.  When 
the  alarm  was  given  of  our  arrival,  and  he  actually 
saw  Marklmm  and  me,  he  snatched  the  documents 
and  made  his  escape  as  described  by  Jasper. 

The  principal  difficulty  Mr.  Sturdevant  had  to  con 
tend  with  on  the  part  of  the  excellent  invalid  was  to 
persuade  him  on  which  side  his  interest  lay.  But  it 
being  made  clear  that  whatever  hope  of  favor  or  re 
ward  the  case  admitted  of  lay  with  us,  he  ingen 
uously  stated  the  whole  matter,  and  gave  the  key  to 
the  cipher,  which  made  it  perfectly  clear  as  to  where 
the  guilt  rested.  This  he  was  the  more  willing  to  do 
from  his  discontent  with  his  principal,  nothing  al 
layed  by  this  last  operation  of  his  which  plainly  was 
intended  to  leave  him  without  proof  of  any  connec 
tion  between  them. 

Before  we  left  the  house  Markham  and  I  had  the 
satisfaction  of  shaking  hands  upon  the  entire  success 
of  our  expedition ;  and  our  satisfaction  was  increased 


•       IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS  IS  MADE.  265 

by  knowing  that  the  relief  of  our  friends  had  been 
greatly  hastened  by  it.  Although  it  was  Mr.  Stur- 
devant's  opinion  and  our  own  that  such  a  web  of 
fraud  and  perjury  could  not  have  stood  the  test  of  an 
English  investigation,  still  it  was  much  better  to 
avoid  it  with  all  its  gossipings,  and  scandals,  and 
lifelong  suspicions.  Ferguson  was  committed  to  the 
county  jail  to  await  the  decision  of  the  higher  au 
thorities  as  to  the  jurisdiction  to  which  his  crime  be 
longed  ;  while  an  officer  was  put  into  the  Jew's  house 
to  keep  guard  over  Abrahams.  We  returned  to  the 
inn,  taking  with  us  poor  Jasper,  who  was  not  fit  to  be 
removed  farther  for  a  few  days. 

My  mind  being  now  at  liberty  to  dwell  on  rny 
own  affairs  without  distraction,  I  was  half  frantic  at 
this  delay,  and  felt  that  I  must  know  how  matters 
stood  between  Eleanor  Allerton  and  Markham  or  die. 
Sometimes  I  hoped  that  things  were  not  advanced  as 
far  between  them  as  I  had  feared.  He  certainly  did 
not  seem  inordinately  happy  ;  but  then  he  was  part 
ed  from  Eleanor.  Then  again  I  was  quite  sure  that 
he  had  had  no  letter  from  her.  To  be  sure,  it  was 
hard  to  hit  us,  as  we  always  were  on  the  wing ;  but  I 
think  I  could  not  have  pardoned  Eleanor,  were  she 
my  lady-love,  had  she  not  contrived  to  do  it. 

The  suspense  was  intolerable.  I  was  haunted  by 
a  thousand  insane  imaginings.  I  was  afraid  I  should 
be  taken  ill,  too ;  perhaps  I  should  die,  arid  never 
see  her  again.  And  it  was  Markham  himself  that 
relieved  me  from  my  distress  at  last.  He  it  was  that 


266  WENSLEY. 

proposed  that  I  should  be  the  messenger  of  our  glad 
tidings.  He  wished  to  wait  on  the  spot  until  the 
whole  business  in  regard  to  Ferguson  was  settled. 
"Is  this  a  happy  lover?"  said  I  to  myself;  and  I 
felt  a  foolish  sort  of  comfort  as  I  said  it.  The  only 
difficulty  was  about  poor  Jasper;  and  this  was  settled 
by  McCormick  agreeing  to  stay  with  him  till  he  was 
able  to  travel,  and  then  to  see  him  to  New  York, 
and,  if  necessary,  to  Wensley. 

Things  being  thus  arranged,  I  did  not  surfer  the 
grass  to  grow  under  my  feet.  I  set  out  at  daybreak 
the  next  morning,  and  got  on  to  New  York  as  fast  as 
men  and  horses,  urged  by  money,  and,  I  am  afraid, 
by  Newark  whips,  could  take  me  in  those  days. 
But  I  did  not  reach  the  city  till  the  next  day.  For 
tunately,  the  Fulton  sailed  that  evening ;  and  I  was 
at  Providence  about  three  o'clock  the  next  afternoon. 
I  would  not  wait  till  the  stage  coaches  could  describe 
the  two  sides  of  the  triangle,  but  pushed  on  over  the 
base  line,  which  I  had  just  mathematics  enough  to 
know  must  be  less  than  the  sum  of  the  other  two. 
I  spared  neither  money,  pains,  nor  horse  flesh,  and 
hurried  on  across  the  country  to  Wensley.  I  had  to 
stop  over  night  at  Wexboro' ;  but,  early  the  next 
day,  I  was  on  my  hot  way  again.  I  came  in  sight  of 
Wensley  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  a 
delicious  Indian-summer  day.  The  haze,  that  was 
not  a  haze,  gave  a  dreamy  beauty  to  tree,  and  hill, 
and  stream.  At  the  gate  I  leaped  out  of  the  open 
wagon  which  had  brought  me  my  last  stage  and  has- 


IN   WHICH   GREAT   PROGRESS  IS   MADE.  267 

teued  up  the  sweep.  I  entered  the  house.  I  passed 
on  to  Eleanor's  parlor.  I  opened  the  door.  She  was 
sitting  at  the  farther  window,  and  alone.  When  she 
saw  me  she  started  up  and  exclaimed  only,  — 

"  Frank ! " 

"  Eleanor —  dear  Eleanor,"  said  I,  "  all  is  well ! 
Everything  is  cleared  up,  and  all  is  safe ! " 

I  had  nearly  crossed  the  room  before  I  had  fin 
ished  my  sentence.  She  gave  me  a  look  never  to  be 
forgotten;  and,  coming  forward  a  step  or  two  to 
meet  me,  fell  upon  my  neck  and  burst  into  tears. 
Aha !  it  was  not  Fairy's  neck  this  time.  It  was  my 
turn  now.  And  these  were  tears  of  joy. 

Presently  I  led  her  to  the  sofa,  and,  still  holding 
her  hand,  (she  let  me,  by  Heaven !)  told  her  as  briefly 
as  I  could  the  whole  story.  When  this  was  done, 
and  we  paused  a  moment  from  the  subject,  I  looked 
into  her  eyes  (how  could  I  have  ever  thought  them 
hard  to  read  ?)  and  said,  — 

"  Eleanor,  then  it  was  not  Markham,  after  all  ? " 

"  No,"  she  replied,  her  lip  quivering  and  her  eye 
lids  drooping  under  my  gaze;  "no,  Frank,  it  was  not 
Markham." 

Ah,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  it  was  well 
for  your  peace  of  mind  that  you  were  not  within  eye 
shot  just  then ! 


CHAPTEE   XIV. 

BEING  THE  CONCLUSION    OF  THE  WHOLE  MATTER. 

r  I  ^HERE  is  really  no  occasion  for  this  chapter. 
-*•  The  little  more  I  have  to  say  could  be  stitched 
on  to  the  last  one  just  as  well  as  not.  But,  then,  I 
do  think  that  chapter  ends  well;  and,  moreover,  I 
would  not  have  this  story  of  mine  rounded  by  a 
thirteenth  chapter.  No,  indeed ;  I  would  as  soon 
have  had  thirteen  guests  round  my  wedding  supper 
table.  So  we  will  have  chapter  fourteen  as  L  Envoi, 
if  only  for  luck. 

Well,  well,  it  seemed  a  good  while  before  that 
marriage  supper  was  spread.  But  it  came  at  last. 
And  it  has  been  a  good  while  longer  since,  only  it 
has  not  seemed  so.  Not  that  we  had  any  very  cruel 
opposition  to  encounter.  Had  I  been  writing  a  novel 
I  should  have  been  a  dunce  to  have  allowed  Eleanor 
to  have  had  so  good-natured  a  papa.  But  I  cannot 
help  the  fact ;  and  in  real  life  such  characters  are 
not  uncommon,  and  by  no  means  unpleasant,  if  un 
interesting.  Colonel  Allerton  only  laughed  at  us,  and 
refused  to  recognize  any  engagement  for  a  year  or 
two,  thinking  that  it  was  only  right  a  boy  and  girl 
of  nineteen  (for  I  found  that  I  had  imagined  Eleanor 


BEING   THE   CONCLUSION   OF   THE   WHOLE   MATTER.     269 

older  than  she  was,  as  boys  are  apt  to  do  in  such 
cases,  and  that  I  was,  in  fact,  just  eleven  days  her 
elder)  should  have  a  full  opportunity  to  change  their 
minds.  But  as  he  allowed  us  perfect  freedom  of  in 
tercourse  personally  and  by  letter,  we  consoled  our 
selves  by  resolving  to  show  him  that  we  could  not 
change  our  minds.  At  any  rate,  we  did  not. 

Mr.  Bulkley  was,  of  course,  the  first  person  out  of 
that  family  to  whom  I  communicated  all  the  good 
news  I  had  to  tell,  withholding  nothing.  The  whole 
story  gave  him  the  extremest  pleasure,  but  none  so 
exquisite  as  the  part  which  told  that  I  was  the  ac 
cepted  lover  of  Eleanor.  His  joy  was  not  profuse  of 
words  ;  but  it  glistened  in  his  eye,  and  seemed  to  per 
vade  his  whole  nature  and  to  glow  in  his  whole  life. 
I  believe  he  loved  us  both  dearly,  and  rejoiced  from 
his  heart  that  we  loved  each  other.  And  then  a  con 
stitutional  match-maker  feels  an  artist's  pride  in  the 
match  he  has  planned  and  helped  to  make. 

I  thought  he  would  be  more  distressed  than  he 
seemed  to  be  at  Jasper's  mishap.  But  he  treated  it 
very  slightly.  He  seemed  still  to  hold  to  General 
Wolfe's  doctrine,  that  it  was  the  business  of  a  soldier 
to  die ;  and,  of  course,  that  includes  being  wounded. 
Only  he  was  glad  that  he  had  done  his  duty  and 
been  mentioned  with  distinction  in  the  despatches. 
This  was  also  very  much  Jasper's  own  opinion,  when 
he  arrived  soon  after  in  the  company  rather  than  in 
the  care  of  the  good  McCormick,  who  came  on  with 
him  to  see  the  Allertons,  at  their  earnest  request  and 


270  WENSLEY. 

at  their  charges.  Major  Grimes  told  me  Jasper  said 
"  that  a  fellow  that  made  a  campaign  in  the  Jarseys 
must  be  willing  to  run  the  risk  of  being  stuck  by  a 
Tory."  As  the  story  was  told  to  me,  the  future  state 
of  the  Tory  was  somewhat  distinctly  intimated.  But, 
as  Jasper  had  lived  so  many  years  in  a  minister's  ser 
vice,  I  cannot  but  hope  that  the  qualifying  participle 
was  an  interpolation  of  the  gallant  narrator. 

The  remainder  of  my  exile  from  college  soon 
passed  away,  and  I  returned  thither  with  much  more 
reluctance  than  I  had  left  it;  and  I  returned  much 
older  in  heart  and  mind.  I  was  a  boy  then ;  I  felt 
that  I  was  a  man  now.  My  pursuits  were  modified 
by  the  change  in  my  feelings ;  and  if  I  did  not 
absolutely  forsake  the  Deipnosophoi  (which  would 
have  been  ungrateful  in  view  of  my  obligations  to 
them),  at  least  their  ritual  services  absorbed  a  very 
small  part  of  my  thoughts  or  my  time.  Encouraged 
by  the  hope  of  showing  myself  worthy  of  the  love 
of  Eleanor  arid  of  the  good  opinion  of  her  father 
and  Mr.  Bulkley,  I  gave  myself  to  study  as  I  had 
never  done  before ;  and  I  believe  that,  when  I  came 
to  take  my  degree,  I  neither  disgraced  myself  nor 
disappointed  them. 

Within  a  year  after  my  graduation,  having  then 
attained  my  majority,  Mr.  Bulkley  joined  Eleanor 
and  me  in  holy  wedlock  at  Wensley.  It  was  an  oc 
casion  of  mixed  joy  and  sorrow,  of  smiles  and  tears, 
as  all  such  momentous  crises  must  be  to  those  that 
reflect  and  feel.  The  greatest  grief  that  clouded  that 


BEING   THE   CONCLUSION   OF   THE    WHOLE   MATTER.     271 

happy  hour  was  the  thought  that  it  foreshadowed 
the  sad  hour  of  separation  from  Mr.  Bulkley  and 
Wensley ;  for  almost  immediately  after  our  marriage, 
we  accompanied  Colonel  Allerton  back  to  England, 
where  we  lived  until  his  death,  which  occurred  about 
three  years  afterwards.  There  our  friendly  relations 
were  renewed  with  Markham,  who  had  returned  home 
almost  immediately  after  the  events  of  the  last  chap 
ter  and  succeeded  to  the  office  left  vacant  by  the  dis 
mission  of  Ferguson,  which  he  held  until  it  expired, 
not  long  since,  with  the  gradual  extinction  of  the 
unfortunate  class  it  regarded.  I  never  knew  what 
passed  between  Eleanor  and  him  at  the  time  of  his 
visit  at  Woodside.  1  never  asked  her,  and  she  never 
told  me. 

After  the  death  of  her  father,  Eleanor  and  I  re 
turned  to  America  and  lived  a  year  or  two  at  Wens- 
ley.  But  the  climate  of  New  England  did  not  agree 
with  her  health;  and  we  removed  to  Pennsylvania, 
where  we  live  to  this  day.  Our  house  stands  finely 
on  a  spur  of  one  of  the  Appalachians,  just  where  the 
mountain  range  begins  to  melt  into  the  champaign 
country  below.  Behind  us  the  mountains  stand  in 
everlasting  yet  ever-changing  beauty ;  while,  before 
the  rushing  river  foams  and  flows  through  a  delicious 
country  of  meadows,  pastures,  cornfields,  and  wood 
lands,  dotted  with  cattle  and  sprinkled  with  villages, 
until  it  is  lost  to  sight  in  the  blue  distance.  It  is 
situated  in  the  township  of  St.  Philipsburgh  and  the 
county  of  Monongahela,  about  three  miles  off  the 


272  WEXSLEY. 

state  road  from  Harrodstown  to  Foxley,  to  the  west. 
There  we  have  lived  for  many  years  and  have  had  — 
but  as  Miss  Martha  Buskbody  said  to  Mr.  Peter  Pat- 
tieson,  when  he  was  about  to  make  a  minute  statement 
of  the  felicities  of  the  married  life  of  Henry  Morton 
and  Edith  Bellenden,  "  It  is  unnecessary  to  be  partic 
ular  concerning  our  matrimonial  comforts." 

As  long  as  Mr.  Bulkley  lived  we  never  failed  to 
pay  him  a  visit  of  two  or  three  months  every  sum 
mer,  and  for  that  purpose  retained  Woodside  until 
after  his  death.  This  took  place  about  twelve  years 
from  the  time  of  our  marriage,  at  the  age,  as  the  in 
scription  on  the  monument  erected  by  the  Wensley 
Sewing  Circle  informs  us,  of  eighty-four  years,  seven 
months,  and  five  days.  It  was,  as  he  had  always 
wished  it  should  be,  instantaneous.  I  chanced  to  be 
in  New  York  when  it  happened ;  so  that  I  was  able 
to  reach  Wensley  in  time  to  lay  his  head  in  the  Min 
ister's  Tomb.  Eleanor  mourned  him  as  another  father, 
and  I  as  the  only  one  I  had  known.  He  left  a  mod 
erate  property,  as  he  had  had  a  captain's  pay  for  sev 
eral  years  under  the  last  pension  act.  This  he  left  to 
the  town,  the  income  to  be  paid  to  Jasper  during  his 
life.  His  books  he  bequeathed  to  me ;  also  his  sword 
and  firelock,  which,  as  I  write,  are  crossed  over  the 
fireplace  of  my  library  as  they  were  over  his.  His 
cocked  hat,  wig,  and  goldheaded  cane  I  bought  at  the 
executor's  sale  at  a  moderate  figure,  and  still  preserve 
them  with  filial  reverence. 

Jasper  survived  his  master  nearly  ten  years,  and 


BEING   THE   CONCLUSION   OF   THE   WHOLE   MATTER.     273 

was  a  good  deal  past  ninety  when  lie  died.  He  was 
"  a  prosperous  gentleman "  in  his  last  days ;  for, 
besides  Mr.  Bulkley's  bequest,  he  had  savings  of  his 
own,  as  he  was  a  pensioner  under  the  first  act,  and 
received  his  ninety  dollars  a  year  till  his  death.  He 
suffered  me  to  give  him  the  use  of  a  cottage  near  the 
borders  of  a  pretty  little  wooded  lake,  which  is 
known  as  Jasp's  Pond  to  this  day.  I  was  never  in 
Boston  without  going  to  see  him ;  and,  though  I  was 
at  home  when  he  died,  I  honored  his  memory  with 
a  marble  headstone,  according  to  a  promise  made 
to  him  during  life,  and  which  seemed  to  reconcile 
him  more  than  anything  to  the  idea  of  dying.  The 
Minister's  Tornb  is  in  the  north-east  corner  of  the 
burying-ground,  and  Jasper  lies  buried  a  little  to  the 
west  and  south  of  it.  You  would  know  the  place  by 
a  fine  larch  which  grows  near  it. 

I  have  been  so  busy  with  the  memories  I  most  love 
that  I  had  almost  forgotten  to  tell  what  became  of 
Ferguson.  After  the  first  joy  of  the  discovery  of  his 
villany  was  over,  I  could  see  plainly  that  the  minister 
was  depressed  by  the  idea  of  his  undergoing  any 
shameful  punishment.  I  mentioned  this  to  Colonel 
Allerton;  and  he,  too,  felt  no  disposition  to  pursue 
him  to  extremities.  This  he  intimated  to  Mr.  Sturde- 
vant,  who  informed  him  that  he  should  promote  his 
wishes  the  more  readily  from  the  great  doubt  he  enter 
tained  whether  Ferguson  could  be  prosecuted  to  con 
viction.  He  could  not  be  sent  to  England  for  trial ; 
and  it  was  more  than  doubtful  whether  the  original 
18 


274  WENSLEY. 

instigation  of  the  crime,  when  in  this  country,  could 
be  proved,  after  the  death  of  Abrahams,  which  soon 
followed  the  scenes  at  his  bedside.  So  he  was  dis 
charged  from  custody  by  the  consent  of  all  parties. 
His  spirit  was  thoroughly  broken,  however,  as  may  be 
inferred  from  this  fact.  When  the  negotiations 
relating  to  his  release  were  going  on,  Mr.  Sturdevant 
received  from  Boston  an  anonymous  letter,  containing 
a  draft  for  five  hundred  dollars,  to  be  given  to  the 
prisoner  on  his  discharge.  This  he  must  have  sup 
posed  to  have  come  from  Colonel  Allerton,  the  man 
he  had  tried  to  ruin  ;  and  yet  he  took  it.  We  knew 
that  it  was  an  offering  to  the  memory  of  Julia  Mans 
field.  Ferguson  went  to  South  America,  where  the 
revolutions  were  then  raging,  and  nothing  definite 
was  ever  heard  of  him.  If  the  rumors  which  reached 
us  were  true,  his  life  and  death  were  miserable 
enough. 

And  now  I  do  wish  to  Heaven  that  I  had  the  least 
spice  of  invention  in  my  whole  composition.  I 
always  thought  that  these  facts,  simple  and  natural 
as  they  are,  were  capable  of  artistic  treatment  in 
proper  hands.  And  here  I  have  bungled  the  whole 
thing,  because  all  I  could  do  was  to  tell  them  in  the 
order  in  which  they  occurred.  I  had  not  the  least 
intention  of  saying  anything  about  myself  or  my 
concerns,  except  with  respect  to  Parson  Bulkley  and 
Jasper,  when  I  began.  And  yet  I  have  told  you  this 
long  story,  of  which,  after  all,  I  seem  to  have  blun 
dered  into  being  the  hero  much  against  my  will. 


BEING   THE   CONCLUSION   OF   THE   WHOLE   MATTER.     275 

But  I  could  not  help  myself;  I  could  not  arrange 
and  improve  my  incidents.  All  that  I  can  claim  is 
the  humble  virtue  of  strict  and  literal  fidelity  in  my 
narrative  of  facts.  I  believe  the  faculty  of  imagination 
was  left  out  when  I  was  put  together. 

Then,  again,  I  wonder  whether  this  is  "A  STORY 
WITHOUT  A  MORAL "  or  not.  I  am  sure  I  did  not 
mean  that  it  should  have  any.  I  have  been  taken  in 
so  often  by  false  pretences,  and  found  that  I  had 
bought  a  tract  against  Catholicism  or  against  Protes 
tantism,  in  favor  of  free  trade  or  of  protection,  of  high 
church  or  low  church,  when  I  thought  I  had  been 
buying  a  novel,  that  I  was  determined,  when  asked 
by  my  intrepid  publishers  to  furnish  something  for 
their  press,  that  it  should  be  something  not  in  the 
remotest  degree  edifying  or  instructive.  I  don't 
know  how  I  have  succeeded ;  but  I  have  done  my 
best.  I  was  horribly  afraid,  however,  when  I  first 
saw  the  name  in  print,  that  it  might  turn  out,  after 
all,  a  "  MORAL  WITHOUT  A  STORY."  But  I  don't  think 
it  has.  The  only  moral  I  can  discern  in  it  is,  that, 
if  a  young  gentleman  gets  into  a  row  and  is 
sent  away  from  college,  he  will  be  rewarded  with  the 
most  charming  of  young  women  as  a  wife.  But  I 
really  think  this  is  too  violent  a  generalization  ;  and  I 
would  earnestly  entreat  the  academic  youth  of  America 
not  to  act  upon  it  as  a  settled  principle.  If  my  story 
have  any  moral,  it  is  because  one  is  the  inevitable 
attendant  upon  all  the  events  of  human  life.  I  will 
only  say,  at  parting,  that  I  shall  be  amply  rewarded 


276  WENSLEY. 

for  my  pains  in  telling  it  if  I  have  succeeded  in 
exciting  for  a  brief  moment  in  the  minds  of  my 
readers  a  portion  of  the  interest  and  pleasure  which 
is  ever  renewed  in  my  own  breast  by  the  name  of 
WENSLEY. 


MOUNT    VERNEY. 


MOUNT    VERNEY; 

OR,  AN  INCIDENT  OF  INSURRECTION.1 


"  Rise  like  lions  after  slumber, 
In  unconquerable  number  ! 
Shake  to  earth  your  chains,  like  dew 
Which  in  sleep  had  fallen  on  you! 
Ye  are  many  !  they  are  few  !  "  —  SHELLEY. 

IT  was  towards  the  close  of  an  April  day  (how  dif 
ferent  from  those  he  had  left  behind  him  !)  in  the 
year  1773,  that  a  gentleman  of  some  political  promi 
nence  in  the  town  of  Boston  found  himself  riding 
up  the  approach  to  Mount  Verney,  —  an  estate  lying 
in  one  of  the  midland  counties  of  South  Carolina. 
The  visit  of  Mr.  Langdon  (by  which  name  it  is  our 
sovereign  pleasure  that  our  traveller  shall  be  known) 
to  the  Southern  Colonies  was  partly  of  a  personal, 
and  partly  of  a  political  nature.  His  physicians  had 
doomed  him  to  expiate  his  intemperate  excesses  of 
study  and  professional  application  by  some  months 

1  I  had  my  grandfather,  Josiah  Quincy,  jun.,  in  mind,  as  the 
'motive  of  the  description  of  Mr.  Langdon.  This  story  has  a  ground 
work  of  historical  truth.  There  was  such  an  insurrection  in  1739, 
in  South  Carolina. 


280  MOUNT   VERNEY. 

of  exile  from  New  England  ;  and  the  stirring  char 
acter  of  public  affairs  at  that  time  induced  him  to 
select  the  more  important  of  the  Southern  provinces 
as  his  place  of  banishment.  The  signs  of  an  ap- 
pr<3aching  collision  with  the  mother-country  were  too 
plain  to  be  mistaken;  and  Massachusetts  Bay,  as 
the  ringleader  of  the  gathering  revolt,  was  naturally 
anxious  to  know  to  what  extent  the  other  Colonies 
were  ripe  for  the  conflict,  and  how  far  she  might 
rely  upon  them  for  assistance  in  the  last  appeal. 

It  is  no  part  of  my  purpose  to  give  any  particulars 
of  his  success  or  ill  success  in  his  demi-public  capa 
city.  I  will  only  say,  that  though  his  mission  looked 
towards  "Disunion,"  and  even  towards  the  possible 
contingency  of  "cutting  their  masters'  throats,"  his 
reception  and  treatment  were  very  different  from 
that  extended  a  year  or  two  since  by  the  same  sov 
ereignty,  to  an  accredited  ambassador  of  Massachu 
setts,  who  visited  it  for  the  purpose  of  instituting  a 
suit-at-law,  before  the  tribunals  of  the  nation,  to 
settle  a  question  of  personal  liberty.  Nor  will  I 
embrace  the  opportunity,  though  a  tempting  one,  to 
remark  upon  the  folly  of  the  Northern  provinces,  even 
at  that  early  day,  in  reaching  after  the  broken  reed 
of  Southern  alliance,  which  has  from  that  time  to 
this  only  pierced  the  hand  that  leaned  upon  it  for 
support.  My  only  object  in  giving  these  particulars 
is  to  satisfy  the  constitutional  craving  of  my  country 
men,  which  would  not  be  content  without  a  sufficient 
explanation  of  the  circumstance  of  my  traveller  being 


MOUNT   VERNE Y.  281 

in  the  avenue  to  Mount  Verney  on  the  day  and  year 
I  have  indicated. 

There  he  was,  however,  and,  as  he  walked  his  tired 
horse  along  the  picturesque  road  that  wound  its  way 
up  the  side  of  the  gentle  hill  upon  which  the  house 
stood,  he  could  not  help  contrasting  the  scene  and 
the  climate  with  what  his  native  land  was  affording  at 
that  moment  Though  it  was  early  in  April,  the  lux 
uriance  of  the  vegetation  put  to  shame  the  leafiest 
summer  of  his  colder  clime.  The  sides  of  the  -hill  he 
was  ascending  were  hung  with  tufted  woods  of  the 
tenderest  green,  stretching  far  away  upon  the  plain. 
Though  the  primeval  forest  was  in  some  sort  cleared 
from  the  hillside  by  which  the  planter's  mansion- 
house  was  approached,  still  there  were  left  clumps 
of  forest-trees  and  thickets  of  flowering  shrubs,  with 
here  and  there  a  single  tree  of  colossal  dimensions, 
which  threw  sharply  defined  shadows  upon  the  bright 
est  and  freshest  of  greenswards  as  the  sun  hastened 
to  his  setting.  Delicious  perfumes,  wafted  from  a 
thousand  blossoming  trees  and  shrubs,  and  myriads 
of  birds  of  strange  plumage  and  new  song,  and  the 
balmy  sweetness  of  an  atmosphere  which  it  was  luxury 
to  inhale,  made  the  traveller  feel  that  he  was  indeed 
transported  leagues  away  from  his  bleak  native  coast, 
and  borne  nearer  to  the  sun. 

Following  the  windings  of  the  road  along  the  park- 
like  slope  of  the  hill,  Mr.  Langdon  at  length  drew 
rein  before  the  chief  entrance  of  the  mansion.  It  was 
a  building  of  no  particular  pretensions  to  architectural 


282  MOUNT   VERNE Y. 

beauty,  excepting  such  as  it  might  derive  from  its 
adaptation  to  the  climate.  Deep  piazzas,  their  slen 
der  pillars  garlanded  with  creeping  plants  of  an  ever- 
changing  variety  of  flower  and  fragrance,  lent  to  the 
lofty  hall  and  spacious  apartments  a  shade  and  cool 
ness  deeply  delicious.  The  rankness  of  the  vegeta 
tion  gave  to  the  grounds  in  which  it  stood  a  somewhat 
uutrimmed  and  neglected  aspect ;  yet  the  place  .had 
a  distinguished  air  and  a  look  of  tropical  elegance.  It 
seemed  to  be  an  abode  where  the  mere  pleasure  of 
animal  existence,  and  the  delights  which  dwell  in  the 
senses,  might  be  enjoyed  in  their  highest  poignancy. 

The  rare  event  of  a  visitor  at  Mount  Verney  was 
soon  made  known  by  the  clamorous  uproar  of  an  in 
finity  of  dogs  of  every  degree,  and  by  a  bustle,  scarcely 
more  intelligent,  of  troops  of  curious  negroes  jostling 
one  another  in  their  anxiety  to  see,  under  the  pretence 
of  serving,  the  new  arrival.  The  master  of  the  house, 
to  the  monotony  of  whose  life  any  interruption  would 
have  been  a  relief,  hastened  out  to  welcome  his  guest 
with  hospitable  earnestness.  He  had  heard  that  Mr. 
Langdon  was  in  Charleston,  and  had  written  to  him 
to  beg  him  to  take  Mount  Verney  in  his  way.  His 
prominence  among  the  disaffected  of  the  Colony,  his 
intelligence,  and  his  wealth,  made  Mr.  Langdon  think 
it  worth  his  while  to  accept  the  invitation,  although 
it  took  him  somewhat  out  of  his  way.  Mr.  Verney 
ushered  him  into  the  house,  and  heaped  upon  him 
every  hospitable  attention. 

Mr.  Verney  was  a  bachelor  of  some  forty  years, 


MOUNT  VERNEY.  283 

"  or  by  'r  lady  "  inclining  to  five  and  forty.  He  lived 
alone  with  his  slaves,  without  the  solace  or  the  care 
of  female  society.  Like  most  men  of  such  habits  of 
life,  he  had  an  older  look  than  belonged  to  his  years, 
and  there  was,  besides,  that  indefinable  air  about  him, 
which  gives  one  an  instinctive  consciousness  that  he 
who  wears  it  is  not  a  happy  man,  that  melancholy 
and  depression  are  his  abiding  guests.  But,  though 
these  fiends  might  not  be  far  remote,  they  were  cer 
tainly  exorcised  for  a  season  by  the  magic  of  excit 
ing  and  intelligent  companionship.  He  was  all 
animation  and  festivity  of  spirits  under  the  stimulus 
of  the  congenial  society  of  a  man  fresh  from  the 
world  of  life  and  action.  He  was  full  of  questioning 
curiosity  about  that  world  from  which  he  chose  to 
live  remote,  and  seemed  to  relish  the  rare  luxury 
of  conversation  with  all  the  keenness  which  long 
abstinence  could  give. 

The  evening  wore  away  in  various  talk,  for  which 
their  common  friends  at  Charleston,  the  newest  gos 
sip  of  the  town,  and  the  latest  public  news,  afforded 
topics  enough  and  to  spare.  Supper-time  came,  and 
they  were  ushered  by  a  sable  seneschal  into  the 
dining-room,  the  size  of  which  was  curiously  dispro- 
portioned  to  the  number  of  the  party.  The  appoint 
ments  of  the  table  indicated  the  wealth  of  the  host 
in  the  affluence  of  plate  and  china  they  displayed. 
The  viands  were  rather  barbaric  in  their  profusion, 
perhaps,  than  recherche  in  their  preparation ;  but  they 
were  none  the  less  welcome  to  a  hungry  traveller. 


284  MOUNT   VERNEY. 

This  repast,  in  those  days  and  latitudes,  was  the 
principal  meal  of  the  day.  The  chase  and  other 
sylvan  sports,  which  formed  the  chief  business  of  the 
planters,  furnished  their  tables  with  every  variety  of 
game.  The  yet  unexhausted  soil  yielded,  almost 
without  labor,  the  choicest  vegetables  and  fruits. 
The  "  murdered  land  "  had  not  as  yet  begun  to  haunt 
its  assassins  with  the  spectres  of  poverty  and  want. 
Those  were  the  golden  days  of  Carolina. 

The  repast  was  accompanied  and  succeeded  by 
flowing  cups.  The  cellar  of  Mount  Verney  was  bid 
to  yield  up  its  most  treasured  stores  in  honor  of 
this  hospitable  occasion.  Punch,  too,  the  most 
seductive  and  deceitful  of  beverages,  was  there  in  a 
brimming  bowl  of  the  daintiest  of  china,  —  a  libation 
with  which  that  generation  welcomed,  speeded,  and 
crowned  the  business  of  every  day.  Neither  the 
health  nor  the  habits,  however,  of  Mr.  Langdon  per 
mitting  the  indulgence  which  was  the  approved 
custom  of  that  day,  the  circulation  of  the  bottle  and 
the  bowl  was  made  to  give  place  to  animated  dis 
course,  which  was  prolonged  late  into  the  night. 

As  the  large  hours  began  to  melt  into  the  smaller 
ones,  they  gradually  concentrated  their  discourse  on 
the  serious  temper  of  the  times  and  the  portentous 
events  which  seemed  impending.  The  probabilities 
of  an  actual  contest  with  England,  and  its  chances,  if 
it  could  not  be  avoided,  were  fully  discussed.  The 
weight  of  the  several  Colonies  in  the  scale  of  battle, 
should  battle  come,  was  considered  and  calculated,  — 


MOUNT   VERNEY.  285 

which  could  be  relied  upon  as  firm  in  the  faith, 
which  were  wavering,  which  strong,  and  which  weak, 
in  the  prospect  of  the  coming  struggle.  Mr.  Verney 
did  not  hesitate  to  indicate  the  radical  weakness  of 
the  Southern  Colonies. 

"Our  slaves,"  said  he,  "will  be  a  continual  drag 
upon  us.  The  British  will  forever  have  an  army  of 
observation,  and  of  occupation  too,  if  opportunity 
serves,  in  the  very  heart  of  our  country,  cantoned 
about  in  all  of  our  houses,  and  quartered  upon  our 
estates." 

"  You  do  not  think,  then,  that  the  slaves  are  to  be 
depended  upon,  in  case  of  an  invasion  ? " 

"  Depended  upon !  Were  slaves  ever,  'since  his 
tory  was,  to  be  depended  upon  when  they  had  a 
chance  to  be  even  with  their  masters  ?  Yes,  they 
may  be  depended  upon  for  our  deadliest  and  bloodi 
est  enemies.'' 

"  I  cannot  but  think,"  replied  Mr.  Langdon,  "  that 
you  do  not  take  sufficiently  into  consideration  the 
force  of  long  habits  of  obedience,  and  the  personal 
affection  of  the  slaves  for  their  masters." 

"  Their  personal  affection  for  their  masters  !  My 
dear  sir,  had  you  lived  your  life  among  slaves,  as  I 
have  done,  you  would  know  what  reliance  to  put  on 
that  head !  God  knows  that  I  have  had  an  experi 
ence  against  which  no  theory  and  no  philosophy  can 
stand."  And  as  he  spoke  a  deep  shade  of  melan 
choly  clouded  his  features. 

After   a   pause  Mr.    Langdon   proceeded,   "What 


286  MOUNT   VERNEY. 

you  say  is  an  argument  fatal  to  the  defence  of  your 
slavery.  It  shows  it  to  be  incompatible  with  the 
existence,  or  at  least  the  safety,  of  any  common 
wealth  where  it  is  permitted." 

"  To  be  sure  it  is  !  "  replied  Mr.  Verney.  "  None 
but  a  fool  or  a  villain  would  attempt  to  defend  it  on 
its  merits.  But  what  are  we  to  do  ?  "We  have  the 
wolf  by  the  ears,  and  we  can  neither  keep  him,  nor 
let  him  go." 

"It  is  hard  to  say,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Langdon. 
"  But  could  you  not  first  tame  your  wolf,  and  then 
let  him  go  ?  A  wolf  may  be  tamed :  a  negro  may 
be  civilized.  Educate  your  slaves,  prepare  them  for 
freedom,  and  then  there  can  be  no  danger  in  giving 
it  to  them.  Does  not  a  wise  foresight  point  this  out 
as  the  only  feasible  precaution  against  consequences 
terrible  to  think  of  ?  " 

"  My  friend,"  replied  his  host,  in  a  voice  agitated 
by  strong  emotion,  "you  talk  of  you  know  not  what. 
Belax  your  hold  upon  the  wolf,  as  you  must  if  you 
would  tame  him,  and  he  will  bury  his  fangs  in  your 
vitals  for  your  pains.  No,  no !  such  an  attempt 
would  be  full  of  ruin.  My  whole  life  has  been  but 
too  bitter  a  commentary  on  your  philosophy.  God 
forbid  that  the  curse  of  an  unreasoning  philanthropy 
be  visited  upon  other  innocent  heads  ! " 

Mr.  Langdon  saw  that  his  new  friend  was  deeply 
moved  by  some  uncontrollable  emotion.  He  knew 
nothing  of  his  history,  and  consequently  could  not 
divine  its  cause.  He  felt  a  strong  curiosity  to  know 


MOUNT    VERNEY.  287 

what  it  was ;  but  politeness,  and  a  sense  of  what  was 
due  to  the  evident  mental  sufferings  of  his  host, 
forbade  any  expression  of  it.  He  accordingly  waited 
in  silence. 

After  a  short  pause,  Mr.  Verney  recovered  his  equa 
nimity,  and,  turning  to  his  guest,  said,  "  But  I  ought 
to  apologize  for  keeping  a  tired  traveller  so  long 
from  his  rest.  Shall  I  show  you  your  chamber  ? " 

Mr.  Langdon  assented,  and,  following  his  host,  was 
ushered  into  his  apartment. 

The  room  into  which  Mr.  Verney  conducted  his 
guest  was  on  the  same  floor  with  the  dining-room 
and  parlors,  as  they  were  called  in  those  days,  before 
drawing-rooms.  It  had  the  look  of  having  been 
intended,  and  of  having  been  formerly  used,  for  the 
reception  of  company.  The  furniture,  though  evi 
dently  of  an  age  anterior  to  that  of  the  inhabited  part 
of  the  house,  was  of  a  style  and  description  better 
befitting  what  our  ancestors  used  to  call  a  "day- 
room  "  than  a  bed-chamber.  The  height  and  size  of 
the  room,  however,  made  it  a  very  fit  place  for  the 
invocation  of  slumber  in  the  climate  of  Carolina. 
A  journey  of  thirty  or  forty  miles  on  horseback  gave 
it  a  very  inviting  air  to  the  tired  traveller,  and  he 
thought  he  had  seldom  seen  a  more  tempting  object 
than  the  ample. and  luxurious  bed,  to  be  ascended 
only  by  a  pair  of  steps,  which  reared  itself  in  one 
corner,  as  if  the  appointed  altar  of  Morpheus  himself. 

Mr.  Yerney   shook  hands   with   his  guest  at  the 


288  MOUNT   VERNEY. 

door,  and,  wishing  him  a  good-night,  left  him  to  his 
repose.  Mr.  Langdon  was  too  tired  and  sleepy  to 
take  much  notice  of  anything  the  room  contained, 
excepting  his  couch ;  but  he  could  not  help  observ 
ing,  as  he  was  undressing,  two  large  portraits,  nearly 
full-lengths,  of  the  size  of  life,  wrhich  occupied  cor 
responding  panels  on  the  side  of  the  room  opposite 
to  the  bed.  The  one  nearest  the  bed  was  of  a  gentle 
man  in  the  dress  of  the  days  of  Queen  Anne,  or  of 
George  the  First,  his  dark  intelligent  face  looking 
out  from  the  fullest  of  full-bottomed  wigs ;  and  the 
other,  of  a  lady  in  a  fancy  dress,  which  made  it  more 
uncertain  as  to  the  age  in  which  so  charming  a 
shepherdess  had  predominated  over  the  two  sheep 
which  seemed  to  make  up  her  flock.  Mr.  Langdon 
took  but  a  hurried  glance  at  them  as  they  looked 
down  upon  him  from  their  elaborately  carved  frames 
of  tarnished  gold.  He  bestowed  one  wondering 
thought  upon  them  as  he  climbed  up  to  his  repose, 
marvelling  that  two  old  family  portraits  of  the  ap 
parent  consequence  of  these  pictures,  were  suffered 
to  hang  neglected  in  a  place  where  they  must  be  so 
little  seen.  But  sleep  soon  banished  all  thought  of 
his  neighbor's  affairs,  or  of  his  own,  from  his  mind. 

It  was  broad  day  the  next  morning  when  he 
awoke  (for  early  rising  was  not  one  of  the  vices  of 
Mount  Verney),  and,  when  he  looked  at  the  pictures 
again  in  the  light  of  the  sun,  he  felt  yet  more  sur 
prised  than  he  had  done  the  night  before,  to  think 
that  they  should  be  relegated  to  a  remote  bed-chain- 


MOUNT   VERNEY.  289 

ber.  He  was  no  connoisseur,  as  he  had  had  few 
opportunities  of  seeing  good  pictures ;  but  a  correct 
natural  taste,  assisted  by  personal  intimacy  with 
Copley  (then  in  the  prime  of  his  genius),  and  famil 
iarity  with  his  works,  made  him  sensible  that  they 
were  paintings  of  no  common  merit.  Especially  in 
the  picture  of  the  gentleman  did  he  think  he  perceived 
the  hand  of  a  master.  Upon  taking  a  more  minute 
survey  of  his  apartment,  his  surprise  was  yet  further 
increased  by  the  discovery  of  a  picture  opposite  to 
these,  of  three  beautiful  children  —  two  boys  and  a 
girl;  the  boys,  apparently,  from  seven  to  ten  years 
old,  drawing  the  little  girl,  of  four  or  five,  in  a 
garden  carriage,  or  rather  the  elder  drawing,  and 
the  younger  pushing  it  from  behind  —  in  all  the 
glee  and  romping  spirits  of  childhood.  There  was  a 
quaintness  about  the  look  of  the  children,  dressed, 
according  to  the  fashion  of  that  day,  in  the  costume 
of  men  in  miniature,  that  struck  Mr.  Laugdon,  whose 
passion  was  children,  even  more  than  the  elder 
portraits. 

After  breakfast,  by  Mr.  Verney's  invitation,  he  rode 
with  him  the  rounds  of  his  extensive  plantation. 
He  inspected  the  fields  of  rice  and  of  indigo,  on  which 
depended  the  profits  of  the  proprietor,  and  surveyed 
the  plantations  of  Indian  corn,  yams,  sweet-potatoes, 
and  other  esculent  vegetables  for  the  support  of 
the  negroes  and  the  supply  of  the  great  house.  He 
visited  "  the  quarter "  where  the  slaves  lived,  and 
saw  how  slavery  looked  in  the  shape  of  womanhood, 
19 


290  MOUNT   VERNEY. 

of  worn-out  old  age,  and  of  childhood,  more  hopeless 
and  melancholy  than  old  age  itself.  Although  the 
arrangements  for  the  slaves  were  as  good,  or  bet 
ter,  than  he  had  seen  on  the  other  plantations  he 
had  visited,  still  there  was  that  about  the  home  that 
was  no  home,  —  sordid,  cheerless,  melancholy,  — 
of  the  negroes,  that  struck  a  deeper  horror  of  the 
system  through  thet  veins  of  the  stranger  than  all 
the  burning  toils  of  the  field.  The  gardens  and 
grounds  about  the  house  were  viewed  the  last.  At 
each  stage  of  their  excursion,  the  economy  of  a  great 
plantation  was  explained  and  illustrated  by  Mr. 
Verney,  whose  strong  native  sense,  joined  to  his  long 
experience,  eminently  qualified  him  for  such  a  lecture. 

The  ride  occupied  the  chief  of  the  morning,  and 
dinner  was  announced  soon  after  their  return  home. 
As  they  were  sitting  over  their  wine,  after  dinner, 
it  was  next  to  impossible  that  they  should  talk  of 
anything  but  slaves  and  slavery.  Mr.  Langdon  had 
a  natural  abhorrence  of  the  system,  which  was  not  at 
all  diminished  by  what  his  own  eyes  had  seen  of  it. 
His  zeal  for  liberty  was  a  principle  universal  in  its 
nature  and  in  its  application,  and  he  was  deeply 
sensible  of  the  disgraceful  inconsistency  of  a  contest 
for  freedom  carried  on  by  the  masters  of  slaves,  and 
trembled  lest  this  element  might  prove  fatal  to  the 
whole  movement.  Mr.  Verney  assented  to  all  his 
general  principles,  and  had  nothing  to  say  against  his 
deductions  from  them. 

"  What  you  say,  my  friend,  is  all  unquestionably 


MOUNT   VERNE Y.  291 

true.  But  here  are  we,  and  there  are  the  slaves,  and 
what  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

"I  will  tell  you  what  you  may  not  do,  if  you 
really  wish  to  be  rid  of  this  horrid  curse,  and  that 
is  —  nothing.  You  are  in  the  mire,  I  admit ;  but 
you  can  only  get  out  of  it  by  putting  your  shoulder 
to  the  wheel,  and,  the  sooner  you  begin,  the  better 
for  you." 

"  It  is  easier  to  say  that  something  must  be  done 
than  to  say  what  that  something  should  be.  We  find 
ourselves  bound  up  with  the  blacks  in  this  infernal 
spell,  and  how  to  break  it  passes  my  art,  I  must 
confess." 

"Were  it  not,"  replied  Mr.  Laugdon,  with  some 
hesitation,  "  that  the  suggestion  last  night  seemed  to 
give  you  pain,  I  should  insist  on  what  I  then  said, 
that  you  cannot  expect  your  slaves  ever  to  be  in  a 
condition  to  receive  their  liberty,  unless  you  begin 
to  put  them  in  a  condition  to  receive  it.  Pardon 
me,"  he  continued,  seeing  a  cloud  again  begin  to 
brood  over  the  brow  of  his  friend,  —  "  pardon  me,  if 
there  be  anything  painful  or  improper  in  what  I  have 
said  ;  for  you  must  know  that  I  can  have  no  design 
to  give  you  pain." 

"  There  can  be  nothing  improper,"  Mr.  Verney 
replied,  "  in  so  natural  a  suggestion  as  yours ;  but  I 
will  not  affect  to  deny  that  it  is  painful,  deeply  pain 
ful,  to  me.  If  I  have  reason  to  know  anything  on 
earth,  it  surely  is  the  fallacy  of  your  proposition. 
It  does  indeed  touch  me  nearly." 


292  MOUNT   VERNE Y. 

Observing  Mr.  Langdon  looked  concerned  and  inter 
ested,  he  proceeded,  — 

"  I  see  that  you  are  curious  to  know  what  all  this 
means,  and,  having  raised  your  curiosity,  it  is  no 
more  than  right  that  I  should  gratify  it,  though  it  be 
a  task  that  I  would  willingly  decline." 

Then,  silencing  with  a  hasty  gesture  a  polite  attempt 
on  the  part  of  his  guest  to  waive  the  subject,  he 
added,  — - 

"  Nay,  what  I  have  to  tell  is  no  secret :  it  is  part 
of  the  history  of  the  Colony.  And  it  is  a  weakness 
in  me  to  shrink  from  what  I  am  liable  to  hear  of,  and 
do  actually  hear  of,  from  almost  everyone  (but  that 
is  not  a  great  many)  that  comes  to  see  me.  Did 
you  observe  anything  in  particular  in  your  bed 
chamber  last  night  or  this  morning?" 

"  You  can  hardly  think  me  so  blind,"  replied  Mr. 
Langdon,  hoping  that  here  was  an  opportunity  of 
saving  his  host  from  an  unpleasant  personal  narra 
tive,  "  as  not  to  have  observed  and  admired  the  ad 
mirable  family  pictures  that  hang  there.  I  only 
wondered  at  their  being  there  instead  of  here  or  in 
the  hall.  By  whom,  pray,  were  they  painted  ? " 

"They  are  what  I  meant,"  said  Mr.  Verney,  with 
a  forced  calmness  eloquent  of  deep  emotion.  "  They 
are  all  that  remain  to  me  of  my  house,  once  an 
honored  one  in  two  countries,  —  my  father,  my 
mother,  my  brothers,  and  my  sister,  all  united  in  one 
horrible  destruction,  and  I  left  alone,  of  the  happiest 
of  households,  the  last  of  my  name  and  race.  You 


MOUNT  VERNE Y.  293 

can  hardly  wonder,  my  friend,  that  I  do  not  choose 
to  have  such  mementos  always  before  my  eyes. 
You  will  wonder  the  less  when  I  shall  have  told 
you  of  their  fate." 

I  shall  give  the  substance  of  Mr.  Verney's  narra 
tive,  as  it  remains  among  the  papers  of  his  guest,  in 
my  own  words,  for  the  sake  of  the  succinctness  and 
brevity  which  the  inexorable  limits  of  this  volume 
demand.  I  believe  that  I  have  omitted  nothing 
material  to  the  story,  though  I  have  left  out  many 
conversational  digressions,  and  explanations  of  the 
way  in  which  the  narrator  obtained  his  knowledge 
of  incidents  which  did  not  come  under  his  personal 
observation.  I  only  hope,  that,  in  laboring  to  be 
brief,  I  may  not  become  obscure. 

Colonel  Verney,  the  father  of  our  acquaintance, 
was  the  grandson  of  the  first  emigrant  of  the  family 
to  the  New  World.  His  grandfather  was  a  French 
Huguenot,  of  a  noble  family,  who  was  one  of  the  mul 
titudes  dragooned  out  of  his  native  country  after  the 
revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes.  The  Yicomte  du 
Verneuil  and  his  ancestors  had  always  been  among 
the  pillars  of  the  Protestant  faith  in  France.  Their 
blood  had  helped  swell  the  orgies  of  the  feast  of  St. 
Bartholomew,  and  had  been  poured  out  on  almost 
every  battlefield  during  the  long  wars  of  religious 
ascendency.  For  the  century,  nearly,  that  the  Edict 
of  Nantes  remained  in  force,  they  were  always  active 
in  the  intestine  broils  which  disturbed  the  reign  of 


294  MOUNT   VERNEY. 

Louis  XIII.  and  the  minority  of  his  successor,  and 
in  the  later  intrigues  which  gave  to  religious  bigotry 
the  air  of  statesmanship,  in  the  act  which  expelled 
half  a  million  of  the  best  subjects  of  France  from 
her  soil.  The  representative  of  this  turbulent  house, 
therefore,  had  no  claim  for  exemption,  had  he  wished 
it,  from  the  common  fate  of  his  faith. 

M.  du  Verneuil  first  took  refuge  in  England.  He 
was  kindly  received,  as  were  all  his  unfortunate 
countrymen  who  escaped  thither.  But  his  very 
superiority  in  point  of  rank  made  his  position  more 
irksome  to  him  than  the  humbler  artisans,  who  easily 
obtained  employment,  and  melted  into  the  mass  of 
the  laboring  population,  found  theirs  to  be.  He  had 
brought  away  with  him  a  remnant  of  his  property, 
which,  though  relatively  large,  was  very  inadequate 
to  support  him  and  his  family  in  the  style  they 
deemed  essential  to  their  dignity.  He  was  soon 
obliged  to  cast  about  for  some  mode  of  living  which 
would  save  his  pride  and  his  dwindling  estate  at  the 
same  time. 

About  this  period,  public  attention  in  England  was 
strongly  directed  towards  the  proprietary  Colony  of 
Carolina.  The  noble  proprietaries  were  endeavoring 
to  revive  on  those  distant  shores  the  decaying  feu 
dality  of  the  Old  World.  They  had  called  philoso 
phy  to  their  aid,  and,  in  making  John  Locke  the 
Lycurgus  of  their  infant  realm,  the  fantastic  spirit 
of  Shaftesbury  thought  they  had  imitated  the  wis 
dom  of  the  ancients,  who  made  their  philosophers 


MOUNT   VERNE Y.  295 

their  lawgivers.  But  the  experiment  redounded  as 
little  to  the  credit  of  philosophy,  as  the  incorporation 
of  negro  slavery  with  the  institutions  he  ordained 
did  to  the  honor  of  the  philosopher.  But  at  the  first 
establishment  of  the  constitutions  of  Carolina,  their 
defects  were  not  developed,  and  their  fanciful  struc 
ture  attracted  more  general  attention,  doubtless,  than 
a  more  rational  plan  would  have  done.  But  there 
was  one  great  want  yet  to  be  supplied.  Palatines, 
landgraves,  and  caciques,  chancellors,  chamberlains, 
and  admirals,  there  were  good  store ;  but  the  proprie 
taries  sadly  lacked  common  people  over  whom  these 
dignitaries  were  to  predominate.  Accordingly,  they 
did  their  best  to  promote  emigration  by  every  means 
in  their  power. 

The  tide  of  industrious  and  worthy  emigrants 
which  now  flowed  from  France  came  very  oppor 
tunely  for  them,  and  they  endeavored,  with  success, 
to  direct  it  in  part  towards  their  new  Colony.  The 
names  of  many  of  the  principal  families  in  Carolina 

—  Manigault,  Petigru,  Legare,  Gaillard,  DeSaussure 

—  still  bear  witness  to  that  great  emigration  to  her 
shores,  as  the  names  of  Bethune,  Eevere,  Deblois, 
Amory,  Bowdoin,  Faneuil,  and  many  others,  testify 
to  our  own  share  in  it.     M.  du  Verneuil,  as  a  man 
of  some  property,  was  a  very  desirable  recruit.     His 
attention  was  drawn  to  this  Eldorado  of  the  West  by 
the  Earl  of  Berkeley,  and  all  its  real  and  imaginary 
advantages  set  forth  in  golden  phrase.     It  seemed  to 
be  what  he  wanted,  and  he  was  easily  persuaded  to 


296  MOUNT   VERNE Y. 

embark  himself,  and  all  the  fortunes  of  his  house,  in 
the  hazardous  adventure.  He  set  sail  for  the  New 
World,  and  arrived  with  his  wife  and  only  child,  a 
youth  of  about  sixteen,  at  Charleston,  in  November, 
1686. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  his  golden  expectations 
were  disappointed.  He  found  a  scene  as  different 
from  that  whence  he  came,  as  can  well  be  imagined. 
But  with  the  elasticity  of  spirit,  and  power  of  adap 
tation,  of  his  nation,  he  soon  conformed  himself  to 
his  new  circumstances,  and  became  one  of  the  most 
prominent  men  in  the  rising  Commonwealth.  Ma 
dame  de  Verneuil  died  soon  after  their  arrival  in  the 
Colony,  having  sunk  under  the  strange  hardships  and 
discomforts  of  her  new  lot ;  but  his  son,  the  grand 
father  of  Mr.  Langdon's  host,  took  kindly  to  his 
adopted  country,  and  throve  apace  in  it.  He  married 
early,  and  established  himself,  after  his  father's  death, 
at  Mount  Verney,  then  on  the  frontiers  of  the  prov 
ince.  His  name,  the  pronunciation  of  which  had 
long  been  an  offence  to  English  tongues,  was  finally 
corrupted,  and  Anglicized  into  Verney,  —  a  change  to 
which  he  readily  consented.  As  the  Colony  flourished, 
he  grew  rich,  and  increased  in  goods,  and  like  a  patri 
arch,  as  he  was,  he  had  gold  and  silver,  men-servants 
and  maid-servants,  and  much  cattle. 

His  contentment  with  his  lot,  however,  did  not 
blind  him  to  the  disadvantages  of  his  position  for 
the  education  of  children.  He  accordingly  sent  his 
only  son  at  an  early  age  to  England,  to  receive  his 


MOUNT   VERNEY.  297 

education  there.  As  his  body-servant,  and  in  some 
sort  his  companion,  he  sent  with  him  a  young  slave, 
who  had  had  charge  of  him  from  his  earliest  years. 
Arnold,  for  so  the  slave  was  named,  from  his  original 
master,  was  not  many  years  older  than  young  Ver- 
ney ;  but  he  had  shown  a  discretion  and  consider- 
ateness  so  much  beyond  his  years,  and  evinced  so 
genuine  and  tender  an  affection  for  his  young  charge, 
that  Mr.  Verney  was  perfectly  content  still  to  intrust 
the  care  of  his  personal  safety  and  comfort  to  him. 
Arnold,  as  well  as  his  young  master,  looked  forward 
with  delight  to  the  new  and  strange  scenes  in  store 
for  them,  and  he  felt  a  sense  of  trust  and  responsi 
bility  which  raised  him  sensibly  in  his  own  estima 
tion. 

To  England  they  went  early  in  the  last  century. 
Young  Verney,  still  accompanied  by  Arnold,  pro 
ceeded  from  Eton  to  Oxford,  and  from  Oxford  to  the 
Inns  of  Court.  Wherever  he  went,  Arnold  was  still 
a  prime  favorite  both  with  his  master  and  his  young 
companions.  His  imperturbable  good  humor  and 
lightness  of  heart  were  a  continual  letter  of  recom 
mendation,  while  his  sterling  excellences  of  charac 
ter  won  for  him  genuine  respect.  He  availed  himself 
of  such  snatches  of  instruction  as  he  could  seize 
by  the  way,  with  such  success,  that  it  was  a  com 
mon  saying  among  Verney's  companions,  that  Arnold 
knew  more  than  his  master.  However  this  might 
be,  he  was  singularly  well  instructed  for  one  in  his 
condition  of  life,  and  might  have  passed  muster  very 


OF   THF 

UNIVERSITY 


298  MOUNT   VERNEY. 

creditably  among  persons  of  much  higher  pretensions 
than  he.  In  his  zeal  for  knowledge,  he  was  encour 
aged  and  assisted  by  his  young  master,  who  seemed 
to  feel  as  if  all  the  intelligence  of  his  sable  satellite 
was  but  the  reflected  radiance  of  his  own. 

At  length  the  time  of  return  arrived,  and  some 
where  about  1720,  Verney,  accompanied  by  Arnold, 
sailed  for  home.  It  was  a  great  change  for  Verney 
—  that  from  the  crowds  and  gayeties  of  London  to  the 
solitude  and  monotony  of  his  father's  plantation. 
But  it  was  a  yet  greater  change  for  poor  Arnold,  who 
found  himself  transported  from  a  land  of  freedom 
to  a  land  of  slaves.  The  kindness  with  which  he  had 
been  uniformly  treated,  and  the  circumstance  that  in 
England  he  was  rather  better  treated  than  worse, 
on  account  of  his  color,  had  almost  made  him  forget 
that  he  was  a  slave.  His  return  to  Carolina  was  to 
him  almost  like  a  reduction  from  absolute  freedom 
to  hopeless  slavery.  His  eyes  had  been  opened,  and 
he  saw  his  own  condition,  and  that  of  his  race,  in  all 
its  horrors.  The  abominations,  the  cruelties,  the 
debasement,  which  necessarily  attend  upon  slavery, 
shocked  him  as  they  never  could  have  done,  had  he 
remained  always  surrounded  by  them.  The  thought 
that  he,  too,  was  one  of  the  victims  appointed  by 
an  inexorable  fate  to  this  dreadful  destiny,  filled 
him  with  anguish  and  despair  which  could  not  be 
uttered. 

Gloom  and  despondency  settled  down  upon  his 
soul.  The  change  which  had  come  over  him  was 


MOUNT   VERNEY.  299 

obvious  to  "all,  and  the  old  planter  easily  divined  the 
cause. 

"  You  have  spoiled  that  boy,  Jack,"  said  he  to  his 
son :  "  you  have  made  him  above  his  business.  You 
had  better  let  Jones  put  him  into  the  field  for  a 
while.  There 's  nothing  like  hard  work  and  flogging 
to  take  the  sulks  out  of  a  nigger." 

His  son,  however,  refused  to  take  this  humane 
advice,  and  still  kept  Arnold  about  his  person,  as  his 
body-servant,  contenting  himself  with  forbidding  him 
the  use  of  books  and  writing-materials.  He  prided 
himself  much  upon  his  sagacity  in  devising  this  nota 
ble  remedy,  when  it  appeared  at  last  to  be  crowned 
with  success.  After  a  long  period  of  depression  and 
melancholy,  the  cloud  seemed  suddenly  to  pass  off 
from  Arnold's  countenance,  and  the  weight  to  be  re 
moved  from  his  heart.  He  addressed  himself  to  his 
duties  with  all  his  former  assiduity,  if  not  with  all 
his  old  gayety  of  spirit.  Had  his  master  been  an  acute 
physiognomist,  he  would  have  seen  that  the  look  out 
of  his  eye,  the  air  of  his  head,  the  carriage  of  his  body, 
were  all  different  from  what  they  were  of  old.  But 
he  only  observed  that  he  was  cured  of  the  sulks,  and 
congratulated  himself  on  his  wise  prescription  of  ab 
stinence  from  books  and  pen  and  ink. 

But  this  change  had  deeper  springs  than  the  phi 
losophy  of  Verney  dreamt  of.  It  proceeded  from  the 
reception  of  a  great  idea,  the  adoption  of  an  absorbing 
and  abiding  purpose  for  which  to  live.  While  he 
was  plunged  in  the  depths  of  his  despondency,  — 


300  MOUNT   VERNE Y. 

despairing  for  himself  and  his  race,  —  a  thought 
flashed  into  his  darkened  mind,  and  illuminated  its 
gloomiest  recesses. 

"Why,"  thought  he,  "are  my  people  and  myself 
slaves  ?  Why  do  we  remain  slaves  ?  Is  there,  in 
deed,  no  remedy  ?  Is  it  a  necessity,  that  when  we 
outnumber  our  tyrants  four  to  one,  and  every  one  of 
us  is  a  match  for  four  of  them  in  strength, — is  it  a 
necessity  that  we  remain  slaves  forever  ? " 

The  thought  nerved  his  mind  anew.  His  gloom 
passed  away.  He  saw  clearly  the  relative  strength 
of  the  masters  and  slaves.  He  remembered  that  the 
Spaniards  were  at  hand  in  Florida,  ever  ready  to  sow 
dissension  in  the  Colony,  and  to  breed  discontents 
among  the  slaves.  He  felt  that  a  blow  might  be 
struck,  which  would  give  all  the  broad  lands  of  Caro 
lina  to  those  hands  that  extorted  wealth  from  them 
for  others.  He  felt  that  a  mind  only  was  wanting  to 
watch  and  guide  events  in  order  to  conduct  such  a 
revolution  to  a  triumphant  issue.  He  was  proudly 
conscious  that  his  was  a  mind  capable  of  this  great 
task.  He  looked  upon  the  advantages  of  education  he 
had  enjoyed  as  something  providential,  and  designed 
for  a  mighty  end.  He  saw  himself  the  appointed 
leader  of  his  people  in  their  exodus  out  of  the  land  of 
bondage.  In  his  excitement  of  thought,  he  saw  the 
whole  process  of  deliverance  pass,  as  it  were,  before 
his  eyes,  and  he  beheld  his  nation  free  and  happy  in 
the  homes  they  had  wrested  from  their  oppressors. 
He  accepted  this  natural  operation  of  the  mind  as  a 


MOUNT   VEKNEY.  301 

prophetic  intimation  of  duty  and  revelation  of  success. 
His  destiny  was  fixed.  He  devoted  himself  to  the 
rescue  of  his  miserable  race.  A  deep  calm  brooded 
over  his  soul.  He  was  conscious  to  himself  that  he 
was  equal  to  the  work  he  had  undertaken,  and  he  was 
at  peace.  And  he  had  yet  another  seal  of  his  fitness 
for  his  mission,  —  he  was  willing  to  wait. 

Long  years  he  waited ;  but  the  purpose  of  his 
soul  was  fixed.  The  deliverance  of  his  race  became 
the  absorbing,  the  overwhelming  passion  of  his  being. 
The  degradation  in  which  he  saw  them  plunged,  the 
vices  which  were  forced  upon  them,  the  barbarities 
which  they  endured,  made  his  life  bitter  to  him,  and 
his  only  relief  was  in  the  distant  hope  of  rescue  and 
retribution.  His  character  was  obviously  changed ; 
but,  under  the  quiet  gravity  with  which  he  performed 
his  offices  about  his  master's  person,  nothing  was 
suspected  to  lurk,  except  the  desperate  contentment 
of  a  hopeless  slave. 

As  time  passed  away,  the  usual  changes  which  it 
works  were  wrought  in  the  condition  of  Colonel 
Verney ;  for  such  was  the  rank  which  Arnold's 
master  held  in  the  colonial  establishment.  Death, 
marriage,  and  birth  had  bereaved  and  blessed  him, 
according  to  the  common  lot  of  man.  He  succeeded 
his  father  in  the  possession  of  Mount  Verney,  he  won 
the  chiefest  of  Carolinian  beauties  to  share  it  with 
him,  and  he  was  girt  with  growing  infancy,  the  charm 
of  the  present  moment  and  the  hope  of  future  years. 
His  political  position  was  eminent  and  influential. 


302  MOUNT   VERNEY. 

His  plantation  was  a  mine  of  still  increasing  wealth. 
He  seemed  to  have  nothing  left  to  desire. 

The  public  duties  of  Colonel  Verney  took  him 
regularly  every  winter  to  Charleston,  and  frequently 
to  various  and  distant  parts  of  the  Colony.  On  all 
these  expeditions  he  was  attended  by  Arnold  as  his 
body-servant.  The  opportunities  which  were  thus 
given  to  the  restless  observation  of  the  slave  to  dis 
cern  the  strength  or  the  weakness  of  the  different 
portions  of  the  province,  and  to  select  the  disaffected 
spirits  among  the  servile  population  on  whose  co 
operation  he  could  rely,  were  faithfully  improved. 
His  manner  of  life,  too,  was  eminently  favorable  for 
watching  the  signs  of  the  times,  and  for  seizing  the 
moment  which  they  should  pronounce  auspicious. 
He  bided  his  time  in  patience,  well  aware  of  the 
momentous  issues  of  the  enterprise  he  revolved  in 
his  mind,  and  determined  not  to  endanger  its  success 
by  any  premature  or  ill-considered  action. 

Nearly  twenty  years  had  thus  glided  away  since 
Arnold  first  accepted  what  he  considered  a  call  to  be 
the  deliverer  of  his  people,  and  the  favorable  moment 
had  not  yet  appeared.  At  last  the  conjunction  of 
events  seemed  to  portend  the  hour  at  hand.  The 
relations  between  England  and  Spain  became  every 
day  more  and  more  disturbed.  The  aggressions  of 
Spain  upon  English  commerce  and  English  rights 
were  the  favorite  topics  of  one  of  the  mightiest  oppo 
sitions  that  an  English  minister  ever  had  to  encoun 
ter.  Sir  Robert  Walpole  lingered  out  with  difficulty 


MOUNT   VERNEY.  303 

his  wise  and  pacific  policy,  with  continually  dwin 
dling  majorities,  against  such  antagonists  as  the  elder 
Pitt,  Pulteney,  Wyndham,  and  Lyttelton  in  the  Com 
mons,  and  Bathurst,  Carteret,  and  Chesterfield  in  the 
Lords.  But  the  public  mind  of  England  was  at 
fever-heat,  burning  for  a  Spanish  war.  It  was  ob 
vious  that  the  only  chance  of  the  pilot  at  the  helm 
of  state  to  retain  his  hold  upon  it  was  to  shape  his 
course  with  the  tide,  whose  current  was  too  mighty 
for  him  to  resist.  A  Spanish  war  was  inevitable. 

The  relations  of  the  Colonies  of  Carolina  and  of 
Florida  were  among  the  vexed  questions  which  were 
to  be  adjusted  by  the  sword.  The  Colonies,  in  those 
days,  were  ever  the  pawns  of  the  royal  chess-players 
of  Europe,  —  the  first  to  be  moved,  and  the  first  to 
suffer,  as  the  "  unequal  game "  of  war  proceeded. 
The  Spanish  governor  of  Florida,  Don  Manuel  de 
Monteano,  was  a  man  that  well  understood  the  na 
ture  of  the  move  required  of  him.  His  theatre  was  a 
narrow  one  ;  but  he  was  an  actor  that  gave  dignity  to 
the  boards  he  trod,  and  he  was  resolved  to  grace  his 
narrow  stage  with  action  worthy  of  the  widest  scene. 
Long  before  affairs  were  ripe  for  war,  he  had  been  busy 
in  forecasting  preparation  for  it.  His  emissaries  had 
been  dispersed,  in  various  disguises,  over  Carolina. 
The  relative  strength  of  the  whites  and  blacks,  the 
false  security  of  the  former,  and  the  necessary  disaf 
fection  of  the  latter,  were  well  known  to  him.  He 
had  that  greatest  of  gifts  in  the  craft  of  government, 
—  a  wise  choice  of  instruments  with  which  to  work. 


304  MOUNT   VERNEY. 

His  most  confidential  agent  was  one  Da  Costa, 
a  Jew  of  Portuguese  extraction,  who  fixed  his  head 
quarters  in  Charleston,  where  he  lived  unsuspected, 
as  a  pawnbroker,  and  dealer  in  small  wares.  The 
character  of  his  traffic  was  such  as  brought  him 
without  suspicion  into  constant  communication  with 
the  slaves,  and  gave  him  opportunities  of  judging 
which  were  the  fittest  tools  for  his  purposes.  He 
was  too  keen  an  observer  not  to  single  out  Arnold, 
at  almost  his  first  casual  interview  with  him,  as  the 
man  of  men  for  whom  he  had  been  long  in  search. 
A  short  acquaintance  made  them  thoroughly  under 
stand  each  other,  and  they  became  of  one  mind  and 
of  one  heart  in  the  work  that  lay  before  them.  They 
digested  their  plans ;  they  assigned  to  each  other  and 
to  the  few  confederates  they  could  trust  the  parts 
they  were  to  play.  A  general  insurrection  was  to 
be  sustained  by  a  Spanish  invasion.  The  freedom  of 
the  slaves  was  to  be  guaranteed,  and  the  Colony  was 
to  be  governed  by  the  blacks,  as  a  dependency  of 
Spain.  It  was  a  good  plot,  well  conceived  and  well 
arranged,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  reason  why  it 
should  not  succeed. 

A  part  of  Arnold's  business  was  the  encouragement 
of  an  extensive  system  of  evasion  into  Florida  by 
the  slaves.  This  was  done  to  such  an  extent  that 
one  entire  regiment  of  escaped  slaves  was  mustered 
into  the  service  of  his  Catholic  Majesty,  armed, 
equipped,  and  paid  on  the  same  footing  with  the 
rest  of  the  Spanish  army,  and  officered  by  the  picked 


MOUNT   VERNEY.  305 

men  of  their  own  number.  The  colonelcy  of  this 
regiment  was  offered  to  Arnold ;  but  he  justly  con 
sidered  that  the  post  of  danger  and  of  honor  in  such 
a  perilous  enterprise  as  this  was  in  the  heart  of  the 
insurrection,  and  not  at  the  head  of  the  invasion.  So 
he  voluntarily  remained  a  slave,  —  though  escape  was 
easy,  and  though  freedom,  distinction,  rank,  and  equal 
society  were  within  his  grasp,  —  that  he  might  be 
a  more  faithful  and  effectual  servant  of  his  injured 
race. 

Notwithstanding,  however,  the  intimate  relations 
of  Arnold  with  Da  Costa,  he  was  far  from  giving 
him  his  entire  confidence.  He  had  no  faith  in  the 
abstract  zeal  of  the  Spaniards  for  human  rights,  and 
he  believed  that  their  real  purpose  was  only  to  sub 
stitute  Spanish  for  English  masters.  He  foresaw 
that  his  end  could  only  be  achieved  by  another  ser 
vile  war,  under  much  less  favorable  circumstances, 
following  upon  the  one  impending,  unless  he  could 
guard  against  this  danger.  He  meditated  the  sub 
ject  long  and  deeply ;  and  his  conclusion  was  one 
that  startled  and  dismayed  himself.  He  could  dis 
cern  but  one  way  of  permanent  peace  and  safety  for 
the  blacks ;  and  that  was  the  utter  extermination 
of  the  whites. 

He  could  not  escape  from  the  terrible  presence  of 
this  dreadful  necessity.  His  heart  died  within  him 
when  it  first  stood  revealed  to  his  sight.  It  haunted 
him  by  day  and  by  night.  It  was  almost  enough 
to  stagger  his  resolution,  and  make  him  abandon  his 

20 


306  MOUNT   VERXEY. 

design  with  horror.  The  images  of  his  master, 
the*  companion  of  his  youth  and  the  unaltera 
bly  kind  friend  of  his  manhood ;  of  his  mistress, 
the  beautiful,  the  gentle,  and  the  good  ;  of  the  gener 
ous  Arthur ;  of  the  frolic,  mischief-loving  Edward, 
his  especial  pet ;  of  the  little  Alice,  —  of  all  of 
whom  he  was  ever  the  chosen  playfellow  and  bosom 
friend  —  these  phantoms  made  him  quail  for  a 
moment  as  they  rose  before  his  mental  sight  in  that 
fearful  midnight  when  this  ghastly  idea  first  startled 
him  with  its  apparition.  He  had  neither  wife  nor 
child.  All  his  affections  centred  with  passionate 
intenseness  in  his  master  and  his  children.  They 
were  all  he  had  to  love.  "Was  this  terrible  blood- 
offering  required  at  his  hands  ?  His  own  life  he  was 
ready  to  pour  out.  He  foreboded  that  he  should  not 
survive  the  coming  struggle.  But  must  he  sacrifice 
lives  infinitely  dearer  to  him  than  his  own?  He 
flung  himself  in  an  agony  of  despair  upon  his  face, 
and  wept  long  and  bitterly. 

But  presently  a  wail  was  borne  upon  the  air 
through  the  open  casement,  distant,  but  fearfully 
distinct.  It  was  the  chosen  hour  for  punishment. 
He  started  to  his  feet.  It  was  a  woman's  voice, 
shrill  and  shrieking,  that  reached  his  ear  from  the 
remote  "quarter."  It  sounded  like  the  "exceeding 
bitter  cry  "  of  his  race,  whose  wrongs  he  had  forgot 
ten,  reproaching  him  for  his  weakness.  He  thought 
of  their  blood  and  tears  crying  to  Heaven  for 
vengeance  :  a  vision  of  chains  and  whips  and  brand- 


MOUNT   VERNEY.  307 

ing-irons,  and  an  endless  procession  of  enslaved 
generations,  rushed  upon  his  soul.  Was  this  great 
deliverance  to  be  wrought  without  the  dearest  sacri 
fice  ?  Was  it  to  be  purchased  without  a  price  ?  He 
would  not  shrink  from  his  part  of  it,  dreadful  as  it 
might  be.  But  God  grant  that  he  might  not  survive 
the  victory  it  was  to  buy  ! 

This  necessity  was  felt  by  all  the  blacks  who  were 
admitted  into  his  confidence.  It  was  agreed  upon 
that  the  massacre  should  be  universal,  and  the  future 
exclusion  of  the  white  race  from  the  province  the 
condition  of  its  submission  to  the  Spanish  power. 

Everything  was  ready.  England  and  Spain  were 
at  war.  The  Spanish  auxiliaries  were  at  hand.  The 
day  approached  —  it  arrived.  It  was  a  Sunday,  and 
one  of  the  loveliest  of  autumnal  days.  Arnold  re 
paired  early  to  the  slave-quarter,  and  harangued  the 
slaves  upon  a  case  of  surpassing  cruelty  they  had 
witnessed  the  night  before.  A  tumult  of  excitement 
was  gathered  around  him.  The  alarm  spread.  Jones, 
the  iron-haired,  iron-featured,  and  iron-hearted  over 
seer,  approached,  with  two  assistants,  to  suppress  the 
disturbance.  Seeing  Arnold,  whom  he  hated  because 
beyond  his  usual  authority,  he  rode  up  to  him  with 
savage  glee  and  uplifted  whip.  In  a  moment  he  was 
stretched  lifeless  on  the  ground.  His  assistants  met 
with  the  same  fate  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

The  taste  of  blood  and  of  revenge  had  been  given, 
and  Arnold  knew  that  the  appetite  would  grow  with 
"  what  it  fed  on."  He  mounted  the  overseer's  horse, 


308  MOUNT  VERNE Y. 

and,  sending  messengers  to  the  neighboring  planta 
tions,  led  the  crowd  of  slaves  towards  the  great 
house.  As  they  rounded  the  offices,  and  came  in 
sight  of  the  house,  Colonel  Verney  was  seen  hastily 
approaching  them.  His  commanding  figure  and  mili 
tary  bearing,  acting  upon  their  habit  of  subordination, 
checked  the  progress  of  the  slaves,  and  they  stood  in 
decisively  looking  at  him  and  at  each  other.  Arnold 
saw  that  this  was  the  moment  on  which  all  would 
depend.  He  rode  in  front  of  the  confused  crowd. 

"  Why,  Arnold  ! "  exclaimed  his  master,  "  what  is 
all  this  ?  How  came  you  on  Jones's  horse  ?  and  what 
means  this  disturbance?" 

"  It  means,  sir,"  answered  Arnold,  —  "  it  means  lib 
erty  to  slaves,  and  death  to  tyrants ! " 

"  Tyrants,  you  rascal !  "  replied  Colonel  Verney. 
"  Dismount  this  instant,  and  I  will  soon  thrash  this 
insolence  out  of  you." 

Arnold  dismounted,  and  approached  his  master  with 
a  firm  step,  while  the  gaping  crowd  stood  awaiting 
the  issue.  As  soon  as  he  was  within  reach,  Colo 
nel  Verney  lifted  his  cane,  and  aimed  a  blow  at  his 
slave's  head.  Arnold  closed  with  him.  In  an  instant 
he  had  wrested  the  cane  from  his  master's  hand.  A 
slight  motion  made  the  scabbard  fly  far  off  upon  the 
lawn ;  the  blade  which  it  had  concealed  glittered  in 
the  air  for  a  moment,  and  in  the  next  it  was  buried 
deep  in  the  heart  he  loved  most  on  earth. 

"  Ungrateful  slave  !  "  exclaimed  the  dying  man  as 
he  fell  heavily  to  the  ground. 


MOUNT   VERNEY.  309 

"  No,"  replied  Arnold,  more  to  himself  than  to  his 
master.  "  A  slave  cannot  be  ungrateful." 

I  state  facts :  I  do  not  propose  examples.  As  an 
historian  I  tell  the  doom  which  slavery  once  brought 
upon  its  victim  tyrants.  As  an  abolitionist  I  show 
the  only  method  by  which  such  horrors  may  be  avert 
ed.  But  let  no  one  who  boasts  of  blood  shed  in  the 
battles  of  freedom  affect  a  horror  at  such  scenes  as  I 
have  described.  If  ever  blood  was  spilt  righteously 
for  the  vindication  of  rights  or  the  redress  of  wrongs, 
that  which  has  flowed  in  servile  insurrection  is  the 
most  hallowed  of  all.  And  let  no  one  whose  classic 
enthusiasm  kindles  at  the  story  of  a  Brutus  or  a  Timo- 
leon,  whose  love  of  country  and  of  freedom  was  too 
mighty  for  the  ties  of  sonship  or  brotherhood  to  hold 
them  back  from  imagined  duty,  brand  as  foul  and 
unnatural  murder  the  sacrificial  act  of  Arnold  the 
slave. 

The  blow  was  decisive :  it  turned  the  tide  of  feel 
ing  at  once.  The  negroes  rushed  forward  with  shouts 
of  triumph,  over  the  dead  body  of  their  master, 
towards  the  house.  Arnold  checked  them,  and  found 
them  willing  to  listen  to  his  directions.  He  hastily 
told  them  that  they  must  make  all  speed  towards 
Stono,  a  small  settlement  about  five  miles  off,  where 
there  was  a  warehouse  full  of  arms  and  ammunition. 
Ten  were  detailed  for  the  bloody  business  to  be  de 
spatched  at  Mount  Yerney,  under  command  of  the  only 
confederate  Arnold  had  on  the  plantation,  —  one  whom 
he  could  rely  upon  to  see  that  there  was  no  superfluous 


310  MOUNT   VERNEY. 

cruelty  committed.  All  the  rest,  following  Arnold, 
who  had  remounted  his  horse,  hurried  iii  the  direc 
tion  he  had  indicated. 

As  they  hastened  along  the  high  road,  they  were 
continually  re-enforced  by  parties  from  the  neighboring 
plantations,  so  that,  by  the  time  they  reached  Stono, 
they  were  four  or  five  hundred  strong.  The  little 
settlement  was  soon  carried  and  sacked,  every  white 
put  to  death,  and  a  large  supply  of  muskets  and  car 
tridges  secured.  Arnold  now  called  a  halt  and  reduced 
his  promiscuous  multitude  to  something  like  order. 
The  guns  and  ammunition  he  distributed,  as  far  as 
they  would  go,  among  those  of  his  followers  on  whom 
he  could  most  depend.  The  rest  were  armed  with 
axes,  scythes,  clubs,  or  whatever  other  weapons  their 
hands  could  find.  A  quantity  of  white  cloth  furnished 
them  with  banners.  Drums  and  fifes  were  also  in  the 
warehouse,  and  musicians  are  never  wanting  where 
Africans  are  to  be  found.  Arnold  knew  human  na 
ture  too  well  not  to  avail  himself  of  these  appliances. 
So  they  took  up  their  march  towards  Jacksonburgh, 
with  drums  beating  and  banners  flying,  in  some  show 
of  military  order. 

Long  before  this,  the  tragedy  was  over  at  Mount 
Verney.  The  party  to  whom  it  was  confided  did 
their  work  quickly  and  thoroughly.  I  will  not  har 
row  up  the  hearts  of  my  readers,  nor  my  own,  by  the 
details  which  my  materials  afford.  Humanity  natu 
rally  revolts  at  the  horrors  of  slavery,  whether  they 
are  administered  by  the  masters  or  by  the  slaves, 


MOUNT  VERNEY.  311 

according  as  the  one  or  the  other  have  the  power  in 
their  hands.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  Mr.  Langdon's 
host,  then  a  child  of  six  years  old,  was  the  only  white 
left  alive  in  the  house.  And  his  escape  was  owing  to 
the  affection  and  presence  of  mind  of  his  nurse,  who 
by  affecting  zeal  in  the  work,  and  pretending  to  de 
spatch  this  part  of  it  herself,  managed  to  deceive  the 
destroyers  until  they  had  left  the  bloody  scene,  and 
hastened  after  the  main  body  of  the  insurgents.  The 
terror  of  the  child  might  well  extend  its  influences 
over  the  whole  of  life.  The  ghastly  spectacles  which 
blasted  his  infant  sight  when  he  was  released  from 
his  hiding-place  changed  the  current  and  the  com 
plexion  of  his  being.  He  was  thenceforth  what  these 
cruel  calamities  had  made  him.  Such  a  cloud  passes 
not  away  with  the  morning  of  life,  but  sheds  its  bale 
ful  shadow  over  its  noontide  and  its  evening  hours. 

Meantime  the  insurgent  force  moved  successfully 
on  towards  their  destination.  They  destroyed  every 
house  on  their  way,  and  put  every  white  person  they 
met  to  death.  Unfortunately  for  them,  they  found 
abundance  of  liquor  in  the  houses  they  sacked.  Their 
chief  in  vain  urged  upon  them  the  necessity  of  entire 
sobriety  for  their  safety  and  success.  The  temptation 
was  too  strong  to  be  resisted,  and  Arnold  saw  with 
dismay  an  element  of  failure  developing  itself,  on 
which  he  had  not  counted.  He  hurried  them  on,  in 
hopes  of  engaging  them  in  some  active  service  before 
they  became  unfit  for  it.  Presently  a  small  party  of 
gentlemen  were  seen  riding  rapidly  towards  them. 


312  MOUNT   VERNEY. 

They  stopped  suddenly  on  perceiving  the  strange 
sight  before  them,  and  anxiously  reconnoitred  the 
armed  mass.  Arnold  at  once  recognized  in  the  chief 
of  the  party  Governor  Bull,  with  whose  person  he  was 
familiar.  The  Governor  saw  the  whole  truth  in  a 
moment,  and,  wheeling  about,  galloped  off  with  his 
companions  in  the  opposite  direction.  Arnold,  who 
had  retained  his  horse  for  such  an  emergency  as  this, 
pursued  them  at  full  speed,  accompanied  by  a  few 
other  mounted  slaves.  They  fired  upon  the  flying 
horsemen,  but  without  effect,  and  were  soon  obliged 
to  give  over  the  pursuit,  as  the  Governor  and  his 
company  were  much  better  mounted  than  they.  Here 
was  another  untoward  occurrence,  ominous  of  ill 
success. 

A  large  congregation  was  assembled  at  the  little 
village  of  Wiltown,  in  the  Presbyterian  church,  to 
hear  the  famous  Mr.  Archibald  Stobo  preach.  The 
preacher  was  in  the  midst  of  his  sermon,  when  a 
sudden  noise  of  horses'  hoofs  drew  the  attention  of 
the  audience  from  him.  They  looked  towards  the 
door,  and  to  their  surprise  they  saw  Governor  Bull 
enter.  They  rose  to  receive  him,  and  Mr.  Stobo 
paused  in  his  discourse.  Acknowledging  their  civili 
ty  with  a  slight  wave  of  the  hand,  his  Excellency 
exclaimed,  standing  at  the  door  of  the  church,  "  Gen 
tlemen,  a  large  body  of  insurgent  negroes  is  close  at 
hand.  They  have  fire-arms,  and  it  looks  like  a  seri 
ous  matter.  Make  a  stand  against  them  here,  while 
I  ride  on  to  Jacksonburgh  for  re-enforcements." 


MOUNT   VERNE Y.  313 

In  another  moment  he  was  off;  but  the  scene  of 
confusion  that  he  left  behind  him  passes  description. 
The  men  sprung  to  their  arms,  which  they  were  re 
quired  by  law  to  carry  with  them  to  church,  and 
issued  forth  upon  the  green.  The  screaming  women 
and  children  were  left  within  its  walls  for  protection. 
Captain  Bee,  the  principal  gentleman  of  the  neighbor 
hood,  assumed  the  command,  and  led  the  small  force 
out  of  the  village  towards  Stono.  His  own  house 
stood  on  an  eminence  about  half  a  mile  off,  and  the 
first  thing  he  saw  was  that  it  was  in  the  possession 
of  the  insurgents.  They  had  evidently  got  at  his 
wine-cellar,  and  showed  unquestionable  marks  of  in 
toxication.  A  negro  on  horseback  was  busy  among 
them,  riding  from  group  to  group  with  earnest  ges 
tures  of  exhortation. 

It  was  none  other  than  Arnold,  who  found  his 
forces  becoming  more  and  more  untractable  and  in 
subordinate  at  the  very  time  when  order  and  disci 
pline  were  needed  the  most.  He  in  vain  endeavored 
to  prevail  upon  them  to  move  upon  the  enemy. 
Presently  the  enemy  moved  upon  them.  Captain 
Bee  led  his  men  rapidly  along  the  road,  and,  guided 
by  his  knowledge  of  the  country,  posted  them  so  as 
to  command  the  insurgents  on  the  lawn,  while  they 
were  sheltered  by  the  trees  that  skirted  it.  Arnold 
saw  their  danger,  and  ordered  the  small  body  of 
sober  men  that  obeyed  his  directions  to  fire  upon  the 
enemy  in  their  covert.  As  soon  as  their  fire  was 
thus  drawn,  Bee  and  his  men  issued  from  their  cover, 


314  MOUNT   VERNE Y. 

and,  passing  by  Arnold  and  his  few  without  notice, 
poured  a  volley  with  deadly  effect  into  the  drunken 
and  dancing  crowd  on  the  lawn.  The  panic  was  in 
stantaneous  and  complete.  They  dispersed  in  every 
direction,  throwing  away  their  arms  as  they  fled. 

Arnold  now  drew  off  his  command  to  a  thicket 
that  bounded  the  lawn  on  one  side,  and  bade  them 
sell  their  lives  as  dearly  as  they  could.  The  numbers 
were  now  more  equal,  and  the  conflict  was  long  and 
desperate.  At  last,  on  the  road  from  Wiltown,  a  re-en 
forcement  was  seen  approaching,  which  the  Governor 
was  leading  to  the  battlefield.  Seeing  his  chance 
of  maintaining  his  ground  gone,  Arnold  rushed  out 
at  the  head  of  his  surviving  friends,  to  cut  their 
way  through  the  enemy's  ranks,  before  the  succors 
arrived ;  but  it  was  too  late.  A  body  of  horsemen 
galloped  upon  the  ground.  The  negroes,  with  Ar 
nold  at  their  head,  fought  desperately,  but  in  vain, 
He  was  cut  down,  and  as  he  fell,  a  dozen  sabres  were 
uplifted  to  make  his  fate  certain.  But  Governor  Bull 
dashed  into  the  circle,  exclaiming, — 

"  Stop,  gentlemen  !  This  fellow  must  not  die  yet. 
He  knows  things  which  we  must  know  first." 

He  was  taken  from  beneath  the  horses'  feet,  and 
carried  to  the  town,  where  his  wounds,  which  were 
not  dangerous,  were  dressed.  This  done,  he  was 
thrust  into  a  den  of  torment,  called  a  slave-prison, 
belonging  to  a  private  person,  to  spend  the  night. 
And  what  a  night  it  was  ! 

The  next  morning  he  was  brought  out  and  exam- 


MOUNT   VERNE Y.  315 

ined ;  but  no  word  of  knowledge  could  they  extract 
from  him.  He  acknowledged  and  justified  his  own 
part  in  this  rising ;  but  he  utterly  refused  to  impli 
cate  any  others,  or  to  give  any  information  as  to  the 
extent  of  the  conspiracy.  He  was  tied  up  and  flogged 
(for  the  first  time  in  his  lifej  until  he  fainted  from 
loss  of  blood ;  but  no  syllable  of  information,  or  cry 
of  pain,  could  be  extorted  from  him.  This  ordeal 
was  repeated  for  three  days,  with  fresh  inventions 
of  torture ;  but  all  in  vain.  His  firmness  was  un 
shaken.  Then  they  spoke  of  pardon  and  favor  as  the 
reward  of  frankness.  But  the  only  reply  they  could 
obtain  was  a  bitter  laugh,  which  mocked  the  delusive 
offer  of  the  cruelest  torture  of  all.  At  last,  wearied 
with  their  vain  attempts,  and  fearing  lest  he  might 
die  of  exhaustion,  they  dragged  him  to  a  tree  in  the 
public  square,  and  hanged  him  like  a  dog. 

He  died ;  but  his  memory,  spectre-like,  long  haunted 
the  Province.  His  talents  and  his  endurance,  which 
his  examination  and  torture  had  displayed,  alarmed 
the  planters  even  more  than  the  bloody  effects  of  the 
insurrection.  At  the  very  next  session  of  the  colo 
nial  Legislature  (1740),  the  instruction  of  slaves  was 
made  a  highly  penal  offence.  The  alarm  was  uni 
versal.  Every  man  feared  lest  he  might  have  an 
Arnold  on  his  estate. 

And  there  was  reason  for  their  fears.  Notwith 
standing  the  cruel  examples  which  were  made  of  the 
captive  insurgents,  the  spirit  of  Arnold  seemed  to 
walk  in  the  Province.  Partial  insurrections,  the  fruit 


316  MOUNT   VERNE Y. 

of  his  labors,  were  frequent  for  several  years  after 
his  death,  and  it  was  not  till  after  the  peace  with 
Spain  that  the  Colony  regained  its  former  tran 
quillity. 

"  Was  I  not  right,"  said  Mr.  Verney,  with  a  mourn 
ful  smile,  when  he  had  finished  the  narrative  of 
which  this  is  an  imperfect  sketch,  "  was  I  not  right 
in  saying  that  I  had  had  an  experience  that  refuted 
your  theory  of  educating  slaves  for  freedom  ? " 

Mr.  Langdon  could  make  no  reply  to  such  a  ques 
tion  after  such  a  story.  He  wrung  his  friend's  hand 
in  silence.  He  had  nothing  to  say ;  for  philosophy 
had  not  as  yet  taught  men  by  examples,  that  the 
safe,  sufficient,  and  only  possible  preparation  for  free 
dom  is  EMANCIPATION. 

The  next  morning  he  took  leave  of  Mr.  Verney, 
and  pursued  his  journey  homeward,  a  sadder  if  not 
a  wiser  man.  He  hated  slavery  more  than  ever  for 
this  dreadful  picture  of  its  works.  But,  while  his 
heart  bled  for  the  blight  which  it  had  shed  upon  the 
life  of  Verney,  he  could  not  disguise  from  himself, 
standing  as  he  did  on  the  brink  of  a  civil  war  for 
liberty,  that  his  deepest  sympathies  were  with  Arnold. 

When  the  Revolution  broke  out,  Mr.  Verney  joined 
the  arrny,  and  rose  to  the  rank  of  lieutenant-colonel 
in  the  line.  He  fought  in  many  of  its  battles  with 
the  desperation  of  a  man  for  whom  life  has  no  charm, 
and  death  no  terrors.  But  he  survived  all  the  great 
battles  in  which  he  had  a  part,  to  fall  at  length  in 


MOUNT   VERNEY.  317 

a  partisan  expedition  on  which  he  had  volunteered, 
when  on  a  leave  of  absence,  in  his  native  State. 

As  he  died  without  children  or  kindred,  his  estate 
escheated  to  the  sovereign  people.  It  has  passed 
through  many  hands,  and  has  been  racked  and  "  mur 
dered,"  like  many  another.  I  am  told  by  one  who 
lately  visited  its  neighborhood,  that  it  is  now  a 
barren  sandhill,  its  house  in  ruins,  its  trees  cut 
down,  its  fields  a  desolation.  The  pictures  which 
elicited  this  story  alone  remain  to  recall  it.  But  it 
is  only  for  their  merit  as  pictures  that  they  are 
valued ;  the  portrait  of  Colonel  Verney  being,  per 
haps,  the  only  original  Kneller  (except  one  of  Jere 
miah  Dummer,  in  Boston)  in  the  country.  They 
are  preserved  in  a  public  collection  in  Charleston, 
and  admired  by  multitudes,  as  works  of  art.  But 
their  history  is  fading  from  memory,  and  it  is  only 
to  a  few  old  men  whose  daily  life  is  in  the  past,  that 
they  recall  the  pride,  the  sorrows,  and  the  ruin  of 
MOUNT  VERNEY. 


WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA? 


WHO  PAID  FOR  THE   PRIMA  DONNA? 


I 

"  T  F  anything  could  make  a  man  forgive  himself  for 
i  being  sixty  years  old,"  said  the  Consul,  holding 
up  his  wineglass  between  his  eye  and  the  setting 
sun,  —  for  it  was  summer-time, — "it  would  be  that 
he  can  remember  Malibran  in  her  divine  sixteenity  at 
the  Park  Theatre,  thirty  odd  years  ago.  Egad,  sir, 
one  couldn't  help  making  great  allowances  for  Don 
Giovanni,  after  seeing  her  in  Zerlina.  She  was  be 
yond  imagination  piquante  and  delicious." 

The  Consul,  as  my  readers  may  have  partly  inferred, 
was  not  a  Eoman  Consul,  nor  yet  a  French  one.  He 
had  had  the  honor  of  representing  this  great  republic 
at  one  of  the  Hanse  towns,  I  forget  which,  in  Pres 
ident  Monroe's  time.  I  don't  recollect  how  long 
he  held  the  office ;  but  it  was  long  enough  to  make 
the  title  stick  to  him  for  the  rest  of  his  life  with  the 
tenacity  of  a  militia  colonelcy  or  village  diaconate. 
The  country  people  round  about  used  to  call  him 
"  the  Counsel"  which,  I  believe,  —  for  I  am  not  very 
fresh  from  iny  schoolbooks, —  was  etymologically 
21 


322  WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA   DONNA? 

correct  enough,  however  orthoepically  erroneous. 
He  had  not  limited  his  European  life,  however,  with 
in  the  precinct  of  his  Hanseatic  consulship,  but  had 
dispersed  himself  very  promiscuously  over  the  Con 
tinent,  and  had  seen  many  cities,  and  the  manners  of 
many  men  and  of  some  women,  —  singing-women, 
I  mean,  —  in  their  public  character ;  for  the  Consul, 
correct  of  life  as  of  ear,  never  sought  to  undeify  his 
divinities  by  pursuing  them  from  the  heaven  of  the 
stage  to  the  purgatorial  intermediacy  of  the  coulisses, 
still  less  to  the  lower  depth  of  disenchantment  into 
which  too  many  of  them  sunk  in  their  private  life. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  went  on,  "  I  have  seen  and  heard 
them  all,  —  Catalani,  Pasta,  Pezzaroni,  Grisi,  and  all 
the  rest  of  them,  even  Sonntag,  though  not  in  her 
very  best  estate  ;  but  I  give  you  my  word  there  is 
none  that  has  taken  lodgings  here,"  tapping  his  fore 
head,  "so  permanently  as  the  Signorina  Garcia,  or 
that  I  can  see  and  hear  so  distinctly  when  I  am  in 
the  mood  of  it  by  myself.  JRosina,  Desdemona,  Cin 
derella,  and,  as  I  said  just  now,  Zerlina  —  she  is  as 
fresh  in  them  all  to  my  mind's  eye  and  ear  as  if  the 
Park  Theatre  had  not  given  way  to  a  cursed  shoe- 
shop,  and  I  had  been  hearing  her  there  only  last 
night.  Let 's  drink  her  memory,"  the  Consul  added, 
half  in  mirth  and  half  in  melancholy,  —  a  mood  to 
which  he  was  not  unused,  and  which  did  not  ill 
become  him. 

Now,  no  intelligent  person  who  knew  the  excel 
lence  of  the  Consul's  wine  could  refuse  to  pay  this 


WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA   DONNA?  323 

posthumous  honor  to  the  harmonious  shade  of  the 
lost  Muse.  The  Consul  was  an  old-fashioned  man 
in  his  tastes,  to  be  sure,  and  held  to  the  old  religion 
of  Madeira,  which  divided  the  faith  of  our  fathers 
with  the  Cambridge  Platform,  and  had  never  given 
in  to  the  later  heresies  which  have  crept  into  the 
communion  of  good-fellowship  from  the  south  of 
France  and  the  Ehine. 

"  A  glass  of  champagne,"  he  would  say,  "  is  all 
well  enough  at  the  end  of  dinner,  just  to  take  the 
grease  out  of  one's  throat,  and  get  the  palate  ready 
for  the  more  serious  vintages  ordained  for  the  solemn 
and  deliberate  drinking  by  which  man  justifies  his 
creation  ;  but  Madeira,  sir,  Madeira  is  the  only  stand 
by  that  never  fails  a  man,  and  can  always  be  depended 
upon  as  something  sure  and  steadfast." 

I  confess  tothaving  fallen  away  myself  from  the 
gracious  doctrine  and  works  to  which  he  had  held  so 
fast ;  but  I  am  no  bigot, — which,  for  a  heretic,  is  some 
thing  remarkable,  —  and  had  no  scruple  about  uniting 
with  him  in  the  service  he  proposed,  without  demur 
or  protestation  as  to  form  or  substance.  Indeed,  he 
disarmed  fanaticism  by  the  curious  care  he  bestowed 
on  making  his  works  conformable  to  the  faith  that 
was  in  him ;  for  partly  by  inheritance,  and  partly  by 
industrious  pains,  his  old  house  was  undermined  by  a 
cellar  of  wine  such  as  is  seldom  seen  in  these  days  of 
modern  degeneracy.  He  is  the  last  gentleman  that 
I  know  of,  of  that  old  school  that  used  to  import 
their  own  wine  and  lay  it  -down  annually  themselves, 


324      WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA? 

their  bins  forming  a  kind  of  vinous  calendar  sug 
gestive  of  great  events.  Their  degenerate  sons  are 
content  to  be  furnished,  as  they  want  it,  from  the 
dubious  stores  of  the  vintner,  by  retail. 

"  I  suppose  it  was  her  youth  and  beauty,  sir,"  I 
suggested,  "  that  made  her  so  rememberable  to  you. 
You  know  she  was  barely  turned  seventeen  when  she 
sung  in  this  country." 

"  Partly  that,  no  doubt,"  replied  the  Consul,  "  but 
not  altogether,  nor  chiefly.  No,  sir,  it  was  her  genius 
which  made  her  beauty  so  glorious.  She  was  won 
derfully  handsome,  though.  '  She  was  a  phantom  of 
delight/  as  that  Lake  fellow  says,"  -  -  it  was  thus  pro 
fanely  that  the  Consul  designated  the  poet  Words 
worth,  whom  he  could  not  abide,  — "  and  the  best 
thing  he  ever  said,  by  Jove  ! " 

"  And  did  you  never  see  her  again  ? "  I  inquired. 

"Once  only,"  he  answered,  "eight  or  nine  years 
afterwards,  a  year  or  two  before  she  died.  It  was  at 
Venice,  and  in  Norma.  She  was  different,  and  yet  not 
changed  for  the  worse.  There  was  an  indescribable 

o 

look  of  sadness  out  of  her  eyes,  that  touched  one  oddly, 
and  fixed  itself  in  the  memory.  But  she  was  some 
thing  apart  and  by  herself,  and  stamped  herself  on 
one's  mind  as  Rachel  did  in  Camille  or  Pliedre.  It  was 
true  genius,  and  no  imitation,  that  made  both  of  them 
what  they  were.  But  she  actually  had  the  physical 
beauty  which  Rachel  only  compelled  you  to  think  she 
had,  by  the  force  of  her  genius  and  consummate  dra 
matic  skill,  while  she  was  on  the  scene  before  you." 


WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA   DONNA?  325 

"  But  do  you  rank  Malibran  with  Eachel  as  a  dra 
matic  artist  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  he  answered.  "  But  if  she  had  not 
the  studied  perfection  of  Eachel, —  which  was  always 
the  same,  and  could  not  be  altered  without  harm,  — 
she  had  at  least  a  capacity  of  impulsive  self-adapta 
tion  about  her  which  made  her  for  the  time  the  char 
acter  she  personated,  —  not  always  the  same,  but  such 
as  the  woman  she  represented  might  have  been  in 
the  shifting  phases  of  the  passion  that  possessed 
her.  And  to  think  that  she  died  at  eight  and 
twenty !  What  might  not  ten  years  more  have  made 
her !" 

"  It  is  odd,"  I  observed,  "  that  her  fame  should  be 
forever  connected  with  the  name  she  got  by  her  first 
unlucky  marriage  in  New  York  ;  for  it  was  unlucky 
enough,  I  believe  —  was  it  not  ?  " 

"  You  may  say  that,"  responded  the  Consul,  "  with 
out  fear  of  denial  or  qualification.  It  was  disgrace 
ful  in  its  beginning  and  in  its  ending.  It  was  a 
swindle  on  a  large  scale  ;  and  poor  Maria  Garcia  was 
the  one  who  suffered  the  most  by  the  operation." 

"I  have  always  heard,"  said  I,  "that  old  Garcia 
was  cheated  out  of  the  price  for  which  he  had  sold 
his  daughter,  and  that  M.  Malibran  got  his  wife  on 
false  pretences." 

"  Not  altogether  so,"  returned  the  Consul.  "  I 
happen  to  know  all  about  that  matter  from  the  best 
authority.  She  was  obtained  on  false  pretences,  to 
be  sure ;  but  it  was  not  Garcia  that  suffered  by  them. 


326     WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA? 

M.  Malibran,  moreover,  never  paid  the  price  agreed 
upon,  and  yet  Garcia  got  it,  for  all  that." 

"  Indeed  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  It  must  have  been  a 
neat  operation.  I  cannot  exactly  see  how  the  thing 
was  done;  but  I  have  no  doubt  a  tale  hangs  thereby, 
and  a  good  one.  Is  it  tellable  ?  " 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  not,"  said  the  Consul.  "  The 
sufferer  made  no  secret  of  it,  and  I  know  of  no  reason 
why  I  should.  Mynheer  Van  Holland  told  me  the 
story  himself,  in  Amsterdam,  in  the  year  '35." 

"  And  who  was  he  ? "  I  inquired,  "  and  what  had 
he  to  do  with  it  ? " 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  responded  the  Consul,  filling  his 
glass,  and  passing  the  bottle,  "  if  you  will  have  the 
goodness  to  shut  the  window  behind  you,  and  ring 
for  candles ;  for  it  gets  chilly  here  among  the  moun 
tains  as  soon  as  the  sun  is  down." 

I  beg  your  pardon  —  did  you  make  a  remark? 
Oh,  what  mountains  !  —  You  must  really  pardon  me  ; 
I  cannot  give  you  such  a  clew  as  that  to  the  identity 
of  my  dear  Consul,  just  now,  for  excellent  and  suffi 
cient  reasons.  But,  if  you  have  paid  your  money  for 
the  sight  of  this  Number,  you  may  take  your  choice 
of  all  the  mountain-ranges  on  the  continent,  from 
the  Rocky  to  the  White,  and  settle  him  just  where 
you  like.  Only  you  must  leave  a  gap  to  the  west 
ward,  through  which  the  river  —  also  anonymous  for 
the  present  distress  —  breaks  its  way,  and  which 
gives  him  half  an  hour's  more  sunshine  than  he 
would  otherwise  be  entitled  to,  and  slope  the  fields 


WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA  DONNA?  327 

down  to  its  margin  near  a  mile  off,  with  their  native 
timber  thinned  so  skilfully  as  to  have  the  effect  of 
the  best  landscape-gardening.  It  is  a  grand  and 
lovely  scene ;  and  when  I  look  at  it,  I  do  not  wonder 
at  one  of  the  Consul's  apothegms,  namely,  that  the 
chief  advantage  of  foreign  travel  is,  that  it  teaches 
you  that  one  place  is  just  as  good  to  live  in  as 
another.  I  imagine  that  the  one  place  he  had  in 
his  mind  at  the  time  was  just  this  one.  But  that 
is  neither  here  nor  there.  When  candles  came, 
we  drew  our  chairs  together,  and  he  told  me  in 
substance  the  following  sstory.  I  will  tell  it  in 
my  own  words,  —  not  that  they  are  so  good  as  his, 
but  because  they  come  more  readily  to  the  nib  of  iny 
pen. 

II. 

NEW  YORK  has  grown  considerably  since  she  was 
New  Amsterdam,  and  has  almost  forgotten  her  whilom 
dependence  on  her  first  godmother.  Indeed,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  historic  industry  of  the  erudite 
Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  very  few  of  her  sons  would 
know  much  about  the  obligations  of  their  nursing 
mother  to  their  old  grandame  beyond  sea,  in  the 
clays  of  the  Dutch  dynasty.  Still,  though  the  old 
monopoly  has  been  dead  these  two  hundred  years, 
or  thereabout,  there  is  I  know  not  how  many  fold 
more  traffic  with  her  than  in  the  days  when  it  was  in 
full  life  and  force.  Doth  not  that  benefactor  of  his 


WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA   DONNA  ? 

species,  Mr.  Udolpho  Wolfe,  derive  thence  his  im 
mortal  or  immortalizing  Schiedam  Schnapps,  the 
virtues  whereof,  according  to  his  advertisements,  are 
fast  transferring  dram-drinking  from  the  domain  of 
pleasure  to  that  of  positive  duty  ?  Tobacco-pipes, 
too,  and  toys  such  as  the  friendly  saint,  whom  Prot 
estant  children  have  been  taught  by  Dutch  tradition 
to  invoke,  delights  to  drop  into  the  votive  stocking, 
—  they  come  from  the  mother-city,  where  she  sits 
upon  the  waters,  quite  as  much  a  Sea-Cybele  as 
Venice  herself.  And  linens,  too,  fair  and  fresh  and 
pure  as  the  maidens  that  weave  them,  come  forth 
from  Dutch  looms  ready  to  grace  our  tables,  or  to 
deck  our  beds.  And  the  mention  of  these  brings  me 
back  to  my  story,  though  the  immediate  connection 
between  Holland  linen  and  Malibran's  marriage  may 
not  at  first  view  be  palpable  to  sight.  Still  it  is  a 
fact  that  the  web  of  this  part  of  her  variegated  des 
tiny  was  spun  and  woven  out  of  threads  of  flax  that 
took  the  substantial  shape  of  fine  Hollands ;  and 
this  is  the  way  in  which  it  came  to  pass. 

Mynheer  Van  Holland,  of  whom  the  Consul  spoke 
just  now,  you  must  understand  to  have  been  one  of 
the  chief  merchants  of  Amsterdam,  a  city  whose 
merchants  are  princes,  and  have  been  kings.  His 
transactions  extended  to  all  parts  of  the  Old  World, 
and  did  not  skip  over  the  New.  His  ships  visited 
the  harbor  of  New  York  as  well  as  of  London  ;  and, 
as  he  died  two  or  three  years  ago  a  very  rich  man, 
his  adventures  in  general  must  have  been  more  re- 


WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA  DONNA?  329 

munerative  than  the  one  I  am  going  to  relate.  In 
the  autumn  of  the  year  1825  it  seemed  good  to  this 
worthy  merchant  to  despatch  a  vessel,  with  a  cargo 
chiefly  mad-e  up  of  linens,  to  the  market  of  New 
York.  The  honest  man  little  dreamed  with  what 
a  fate  his  ship  was  fraught,  wrapped  up  in  those 
flaxen  folds.  He  happened  to  be  in  London  the 
winter  before,  and  was  present  at  the  debut  of  Maria 
Garcia  at  the  King's  Theatre.  He  must  have  ad 
mired  the  beauty,  grace,  and  promise  of  the  youthful 
Rosina,  had  he  been  ten  times  a  Dutchman ;  and  if 
he  heard  of  her  intended  emigration  to  America,  as 
he  possibly  might  have  done,  it  most  likely  excited 
no  particular  emotion  in  his  phlegmatic  bosom.  He 
could  not  have  imagined  that  the  exportation  of  a 
little  singing-girl  to  New  York  should  interfere  with 
a  potential  venture  of  his  own  in  fair  linen.  The 
gods  kindly  hid  the  future  from  his  eyes,  so  that  he 
might  enjoy  the  comic  vexation  her  lively  sallies 
caused  to  Doctor  Bartolo  in  the  play,  unknowing 
that  she  would  be  the  innocent  cause  of  a  more 
serious  provocation  to  himself  in  downright  earnest. 
He  thought  of  this  himself  after  it  had  all  hap 
pened. 

Well,  the  good  ship  "  Steenbok "  had  prosperous 
gales  and  fair  weather  across  the  ocean,  and  dropped 
anchor  off  the  Battery  with  some  days  to  spare  from 
the  amount  due  to  the  voyage.  The  consignee  came 
off  and  took  possession  of  the  cargo,  and  duly  trans 
ferred  it  to  his  own  warehouse.  Though  the  advan- 


330  WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA   DONNA? 

tages  of  advertising  were  not  as  fully  understood  in 
those  days  of  comparative  ignorance  as  they  have 
been  since,  he  duly  announced  the  goods  which  he 
had  received,  and  waited  for  a  customer.  He  did  not 
have  to  wait  long.  It  was  but  a  day  or  two  after  the 
appearance  of  the  advertisement  in  the  newspapers 
that  he  had  prime  Holland  linens  on  hand,  just  re 
ceived  from  Amsterdam,  when  he  was  waited  upon  by 
a  gentleman  of  good  address,  and  evidently  of  French 
extraction,  who  inquired  of  the  consignee,  whom  we 
will  call  Mr.  Schulemberg  for  the  nonce,  "  whether  he 
had  the  linens  he  had  advertised  yet  on  hand." 

"They  are  still  on  hand  and  on  sale,"  said  Mr. 
Schulemberg. 

"What  is  the  price  of  the  entire  consignment?" 
inquired  the  customer. 

"  Fifty  thousand  dollars,"  responded  Mr.  Schulem 
berg. 

"And  the  terms?" 

"Cash  on  delivery." 

"  Very  good,"  replied  the  obliging  buyer.  "  If  they 
be  of  the  quality  you  describe  in  your  advertisement, 
I  will  take  them  on  those  terms.  Send  them  down 
to  my  warehouse,  No.  118  Pearl  Street,  to-morrow 
morning,  and  I  will  send  you  the  money." 

"  And  your  name  ? "  inquired  Mr.  Schulemberg. 

"  Is  Malibran,"  responded  the  courteous  purchaser. 

The  two  merchants  bowed  politely,  the  one  to  the 
other,  mutually  well  pleased  with  the  morning's 
work,  and  bade  each  other  good-day. 


WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA  DONNA  ?  331 

Mr.  Schulemberg  knew  but  little,  if  anything, 
about  his  new  customer ;  but,  as  the  transaction  was 
to  be  a  cash  one,  he  did  not  mind  that.  He  calcu 
lated  his  commissions,  gave  orders  to  his  head  clerk 
to  see  the  goods  duly  delivered  the  next  morning, 
and  went  on  Change,  and  thence  to  dinner,  in  the 
enjoyment  of  a  complacent  mind  and  a  good  appe 
tite.  It  is  to  be  supposed  that  M.  Malibran  did 
the  same.  At  any  rate,  he  had  the  most  reason,  at 
least,  according  to  his  probable  notions  of  mercantile 
morality  and  success. 

III. 

THE  next  day  came,  and  with  it  came,  betimes, 
the  packages  of  linens  to  M.  Malibraii's  warehouse 
in  Pearl  Street  ;  but  the  price  for  the  same  did  not 
come  as  punctually  to  Mr.  Schulemberg's  counting- 
room,  according  to  the  contract  under  which  they 
were  delivered.  In  point  of  fact,  M.  Malibran  was 
not  in  at  the  time ;  but  there  was  no  doubt  that  he 
would  attend  to  the  matter  without  delay,  as  soon  as 
he  came  in.  A  cash  transaction  does  not  necessarily 
imply  so  much  the  instant  presence  of  coin  as  the 
unequivocal  absence  of  credit.  A  day  or  two  more 
or  less  is  of  no  material  consequence,  only  there  is  to 
be  no  delay  for  sales  and  returns  before  payment. 
So  Mr.  Schulemberg  gave  himself  no  uneasiness  about 
the  matter  when  two,  three,  and  even  five  and  six 
days  had  slid  away  without  producing  the  apparition 


OP  THK 

CTNIVERSITT 


332  WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA   DONNA? 

of  the  current  money  of  the  merchant.  A  man  who 
transacted  affairs  on  so  large  a  scale  as  M.  Malibran, 
and  conducted  them  on  the  sound  basis  of  ready 
money,  might  safely  be  trusted  for  so  short  a  time. 
But  \vhen  a  week  had  elapsed,  and  no  tidings  had  been 
received  either  of  purchaser  or  purchase-money,  Mr. 
Schulemberg  thought  it  time  for  himself  to  interfere 
in  his  own  proper  person.  Accordingly,  he  inconti 
nently  proceeded  to  the  counting-house  of  M.  Mali- 
bran  to  receive  the  promised  price,  or  to  know  the 
reason  why.  If  he  failed  to  obtain  the  one  satisfac 
tion,  he  at  least  could  not  complain  of  being  disap 
pointed  of  the  other.  Matters  seemed  to  be  in  some 
little  unbusiness-like  confusion,  and  the  clerks  in  a 
high  state  of  gleeful  excitement.  Addressing  himself 
to  the  chief  among  them,  Mr.  Schulemberg  asked  the 
pertinent  question,  — 

"  Is  M.  Malibran  in  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  was  the  answer,  "  he  is  not ;  and  he  will 
not  be,  just  at  present." 

"  But  when  will  he  be  in  ?  for  I  must  see  him  on 
some  pressing  business  of  importance." 

"Not  to-day,  sir,"  replied  the  clerk,  smiling  ex 
pressively.  "  He  cannot  be  interrupted  to-day  on  any 
business  of  any  kind  whatever." 

"  The  deuce  he  can't  ! "  returned  Mr.  Schulemberg. 
"  I  '11  see  about  that  very  soon,  I  can  tell  you.  He 
promised  to  pay  me  cash  for  fifty  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  Holland  linens  a  week  ago.  I  have  not  seen 
the  color  of  his  money  yet,  and  I  mean  to  wait  no 


WHO   PAID   FOR   THE  PRIMA   DONNA?  333 

longer.  Where  does  he  live  ?  for,  if  he  be  alive,  I 
will  see  him,  and  hear  what  he  has  to  say  for  himself, 
and  that  speedily  " 

"Indeed,  sir,"  pleasantly  expostulated  the  clerk, 
"  I  think,  when  you  understand  the  circumstances  of 
the  case,  you  will  forbear  disturbing  M.  Malibran 
this  day  of  all  others  in  his  life." 

"Why,  what  the  devil  ails  this  day  above  all 
others,"  said  Mr.  Schulemberg  somewhat  testily,  "  that 
he  can't  see  his  creditors,  and  pay  his  debts  on  it  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  the  fact  is,"  the  clerk  replied,  with  an 
air  of  interest  and  importance,  "  it  is  M.  Malibran's 
wedding-day.  He  marries  this  morning  the  Signo- 
rina  Garcia,  and  I  am  sure  you  would  not  molest 
him  with  business  on  such  an  occasion  as  that." 

"  But  my  fifty  thousand  dollars  ! "  persisted  the 
consignee.  "  And  why  have  they  not  been  paid  ?  " 

"  Oh,  give  yourself  no  uneasiness  at  all  about  that, 
sir,"  replied  the  clerk,  with  the  air  of  one  to  whom 
the  handling  of  such  trifles  was  a  daily  occurrence. 
"  M.  Malibran  will,  of  course,  attend  to  that  matter 
the  moment  he  is  a  little  at  leisure.  In  fact,  I  im 
agine,  that,  in  the  hurry  and  bustle  inseparable  from 
an  event  of  this  nature,  the  circumstance  has  en 
tirely  escaped  his  mind  ;  but,  as  soon  as  he  returns 
to  business  again,  I  will  recall  it  to  his  recollection, 
and  you  will  hear  from  him  without  delay." 

The  clerk  was  right  in  his  augury  as  to  the  effect 
his  intelligence  would  have  upon  the  creditor.  It 
was  not  a  clerical  error  on  his  part  when  he  sup- 


334     WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA? 

posed  that  Mr.  Schulemberg  would  not  choose  to 
enact  the  part  of  skeleton  at  the  wedding-breakfast  of 
the  young  Prima  Donna.  There  is  something  about 
the  great  events  of  life,  which  cannot  happen  a  great 
many  times  to  anybody,  — 

"  A  wedding  or  a  funeral, 
A  mourning  or  a  festival," 

that  touches  the  strings  of  the  one  human  heart  of  us 
all,  and  makes  it  return  no  uncertain  sound.  Ski/lock 
himself  would  hardly  have  demanded  his  pound  of 
flesh  on  the  wedding-day,  had  it  been  Antonio  that 
was  to  espouse  the  fair  Portia.  Even  he  would  have 
allowed  three  days  of  grace  before  demanding  the 
specific  performance  of  his  bond.  Now,  Mr.  Schulem 
berg  was  very  far  from  being  a  Shylock,  and  lie  was 
also  a  constant  attendant  upon  the  opera,  and  a 
devoted  admirer  of  the  lovely  Garcia.  So  he  could 
not  wonder  that  a  man  on  the  eve  of  marriage  with 
that  divine  creature  should  forget  every  other  con 
sideration  iii  the  immediate  contemplation  of  his 
happiness,  even  if  it  were  the  consideration  for  a 
cargo  of  prime  linens,  and  one  to  the  tune  of  fifty 
thousand  dollars.  And  it  is  altogether  likely  that 
the  mundane  reflection  occurred  to  him,  and  made 
him  easier  in  his  mind  under  the  delay,  that  old 
Garcia  was  by  no  means  the  kind  of  man  to  give 
away  a  daughter  who  dropped  gold  and  silver  from 
her  sweet  lips  whenever  she  opened  them  in  public, 
as  the  princess  in  the  fairy-tale  did  pearls  and  dia- 


WHO   PAID   FOR   THE    PRIMA   DONNA  ?  335 

monds,  to  any  man  who  could  not  give  him  a  solid 
equivalent  in  return.  So  that,  in  fact,  he  regarded 
the  notes  of  the  Signorina  Garcia  as  so  much  collateral 
security  for  his  debt. 

So  Mr.  Schulemberg  was  content  to  bide  his  rea 
sonable  time  for  the  discharge  of  M.  Malibran's 
indebtedness  to  his  principal.  He  had  advised  Myn 
heer  Van  Holland  of  the  speedy  sale  of  his  consign 
ment,  and  given  him  hopes  of  a  quick  return  of  the 
proceeds.  But,  as  days  wore  away,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  time  he  was  called  on  to  bide  was  growing 
into  an  unreasonable  one.  I  cannot  state  with  precis 
ion  exactly  how  long  he  waited.  Whether  he  dis 
turbed  the  sweet  influences  of  the  honeymoon  by  his 
intrusive  presence,  or  permitted  that  nectareous  satel 
lite  to  fill  her  horns,  and  wax  and  wane  in  peace, 
before  he  sought  to  bring  the  bridegroom  down  to 
the  things  of  earth,  are  questions  which  I  must  leave 
to  the  discretion  of  my  readers  to  settle,  each  for 
himself  or  herself,  according  to  their  own  notions  of 
the  proprieties  of  the  case.  But  at  the  proper  time, 
after  patience  had  thrown  up  in  disgust  the  office  of 
a  virtue,  he  took  his  hat  and  cane  one  fine  morning, 
and  walked  down  to  No.  118  Pearl  Street,  for  the 
double  purpose  of  wishing  M.  Malibrari  joy  of  his 
marriage,  and  of  receiving  the  price  —  promised  long, 
and  long  withheld  —  of  the  linens  which  form  the 
tissue  of  my  story. 

"  The  gods  gave  ear,  and  granted  half  his  prayer  : 
The  rest  the  winds  dispersed  in  empty  air." 


336  WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA   DONNA  ? 

There  was  not  the  slightest  difficulty  about  his 
imparting  his  epithalamic  congratulation ;  but  as 
to  his  receiving  the  numismatic  consideration  for 
which  he  hoped  in  return,  that  was  an  entirely  dif 
ferent  affair.  He  found  matters  in  the  Pearl  Street 
counting-house  again  apparently  something  out  of 
joint,  but  with  a  less  smiling  and  sunny  atmos 
phere  pervading  them  than  he  had  remarked  on  his 
last  visit.  He  was  received  by  M.  Malibran  with 
courtesy,  a  little  overstrained,  perhaps,  and  not  as 
flowing  and  gracious  as  at  their  first  interview.  Pre 
liminaries  over,  Mr.  Schulemberg,  plunging  with 
epic  energy  into  the  midst  of  things,  said,  "  I  have 
called,  M.  Malibran,  to  receive  the  fifty  thousand 
dollars,  which,  you  will  remember,  you  engaged  to 
pay  down  for  the  linens  I  sold  you  on  such  a  day. 
I  can  make  allowance  for  the  interruption  which  has 
prevented  your  attending  to  this  business  sooner ;  but 
it  is  now  high  time  that  it  was  settled." 

"  I  consent  to  it  all,  monsieur,"  replied  M.  Mali- 
bran  with  a  deprecatory  gesture.  "  You  have  reason, 
and  I  am  desolated  that  it  is  the  impossible  that  you 
ask  of  me  to  do." 

"  How,  sir  ! "  demanded  the  creditor.  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  the  impossible  ?  You  do  not  mean 
to  deny  that  you  agreed  to  pay  cash  for  the 
goods  ? " 

"  My  faith,  no,  monsieur,"  shruggingly  responded 
M.  Malibran.  "  I  avow  it ;  you  have  reason ;  I  prom 
ised  to  pay  the  money,  as  you  say  it ;  but,  if  1  have 


WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA   DONNA  ?  337 

not  the  money  to  pay  you,  how  can  I  pay  you  the 
money  ?     What  to  do  ? " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Schu- 
lemberg.  "  You  have  not  the  money  ?  And  you  do 
not  mean  to  pay  me,  according  to  agreement  ? " 

"But,  monsieur,  how  can  I,  when  I  have  not 
money  ?  Have  you  not  heard  that  I  have  made  — 
what  you  call  it  ?  —  failure,  yesterday  ?  I  am  grieved 
of  it  thrice  sensibly ;  but  if  it  went  of  my  life,  I 
could  not  pay  you  for  your  fine  linens,  which  were 
of  a  good  market  at  the  price." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Schulemberg,  "  I  had 
not  heard  of  your  misfortunes ;  and  I  am  heartily 
sorry  for  them,  on  my  own  account  and  yours,  but  still 
more  on  account  of  your  charming  wife.  But  there  is 
no  great  harm  done,  after  all.  Send  the  linens  back 
to  me,  and  accounts  shall  be  square  between  us,  and 
I  will  submit  to  the  loss  of  the  interest." 

"  Ah,  but,  monsieur,  you  are  too  good,  and  madam e 
will  be  recognizant  to  you  forever  for  your  gracious 
politeness.  But,  my  God !  it  is  impossible  that  I 
return  to  you  the  linen.  I  have  sold  it,  monsieur  — 
I  have  sold  it  all !  " 

"  Sold  it  ? "  reiterated  Mr.  Schulemberg,  regardless 
of  the  rules  of  etiquette,  —  "  sold  it  ?  And  to  whom, 
pray  ?  and  when  ? " 

"To  M.  Garcia,  my  father-in-the-law,"  answered 
the  catechumen  blandly ;  "and  it  is  a  week  that  he 
has  received  it." 

"  Then  I  must  bid  you  a  good-morning,  sir,"  said 
22 


338  WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA  DONNA? 

Mr.  Schulemberg,  rising  hastily,  and  collecting  his 
hat  and  gloves ;  "  for  I  must  lose  no  time  in  taking 
measures  to  recover  the  goods  before  they  have 
changed  hands  again." 

"  Pardon,  monsieur,"  interrupted  the  poor  but 
honest  Malibran.  "  But  it  is  too  late  !  One  cannot 
regain  them.  M.  Garcia  embarked  himself  for  Mex 
ico  yesterday  morning,  and  carried  them  all  with 
him." 

Imagine  the  consternation  and  rage  of  poor  Mr. 
Schulemberg  at  finding  that  he  was  sold,  though  the 
goods  were  not !  I  decline  reporting  the  conversa 
tion  any  further,  lest  its  strength  of  expression  and 
force  of  expletive  might  be  too  much  for  the  more 
queasy  of  my  readers.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the 
swindlee,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  royalty  of  coining 
a  word,  at  once  freed  his  own  mind,  and  imprisoned 
the  body  of  M.  Malibran ;  for  in  those  days  impris 
onment  for  debt  was  a  recognized  institution,  and  I 
think  few  of  its  strongest  opponents  will  deny  that 
this  was  a  case  to  which  it  was  no  abuse  to  apply  it. 

IV. 

I  REGRET  that  I  am  compelled  to  leave  this  exem 
plary  merchant  in  captivity ;  but  the  exigencies  of 
my  story,  the  moral  of  which  beckons  me  away  to 
the  distant  coast  of  Mexico,  require  it  at  my  hands. 
The  reader  may  be  consoled,  however,  by  the  knowl 
edge  that  he  obtained  his  liberation  in  due  time,  his 


WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA?     339 

Dutch  creditor  being  entirely  satisfied  that  nothing 
whatsoever  could  be  squeezed  out  of  him  by  passing 
him  between  the  bars  of  the  debtor's  prison,  though 
that  was  all  the  satisfaction  he  ever  did  get.  How 
he  accompanied  his  young  wife  to  Europe,  and  there 
lived  by  the  coining  of  her  voice  into  drachmas,  as 
her  father  had  done  before  him,  needs  not  to  be  told 
here ;  nor  yet  how  she  was  divorced  from  him,  and 
made  another  matrimonial  venture  in  partnership 

with  De  B .     I  have  nothing  to  do  with  him  or 

her,  after  the  bargain  and  sale  of  which  she  was  the 
object,  and  the  consequences  which  immediately 
resulted  from  it ;  and  here,  accordingly,  I  take  my 
leave  of  them.  But  my  story  is  not  quite  done  yet : 
it  must  now  pursue  the  fortunes  of  the  enterprising 
impresario,  Signor  Garcia,  who  had  so  deftly  turned 
his  daughter  into  a  shipload  of  fine  linens. 

This  excellent  person  sailed,  as  M.  Malibran  told 
Mr.  Schulemberg,  for  Vera  Cruz,  with  an  assorted 
cargo,  consisting  of  singers,  fiddlers,  and,  as  aforesaid, 
of  Mynheer  Van  Holland's  fine  linens.  The  voyage 
was  as  prosperous  as  was  due  to  such  an  argosy.  If 
a  single  Amphion  could  not  be  drowned  by  the 
utmost  malice  of  gods  and  men,  so  long  as  he  kept 
his  voice  in  order,  what  possible  mishap'  could  befall 
a  whole  shipload  of  them  ?  The  vessel  arrived  safely 
under  the  shadow  of  San  Juan  de  Ulua ;  and  her 
precious  freight  in  all  its  varieties  was  welcomed 
with  a  tropical  enthusiasm.  The  market  was  bare 
of  linen  and  of  song,  and  it  was  hard  to  say  which 


340  WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA   DONNA  ? 

found  the  readiest  sale.  Competition  raised  the 
price  of  both  articles  to  a  fabulous  height.  So  the 
good  Garcia  had  the  benevolent  satisfaction  of  cloth 
ing  the  naked,  and  making  the  ears  that  heard  him 
to  bless  him  at  the  same  time.  After  selling  his 
linens  at  a  great  advance  on  the  cost-price,  consider 
ing  he  had  only  paid  his  daughter  for  them,  and 
having  given  a  series  of  the  most  successful  concerts 
ever  known  in  those  latitudes,  Signer  Garcia  set 
forth  for  the  Aztec  City.  As  the  relations  of  meum 
and  tuum  were  not  upon  the  most  satisfactory  footing 
just  then  at  Vera  Cruz,  he  thought  it  most  prudent 
to  carry  his  well-won  treasure  with  him  to  the  capi 
tal.  His  progress  thither  was  a  triumphal  procession. 
Not  Cortes,  not  General  Scott  himself,  marched  more 
gloriously  along  the  steep  and  rugged  road  that  leads 
from  the  seacoast  to  the  table-land  than  did  this 
son  of  song.  Every  city  on  his  line  of  march  was 
the  monument  of  a  victory,  and  from  each  one  he 
levied  tribute,  and  bore  spoils  away.  And  the  van 
quished  thanked  him  for  this  spoiling  of  their  goods. 
Arrived  at  the  splendid  city,  at  that  time  the  lar 
gest  and  most  populous  on  the  North  American  conti 
nent,  he  speedily  made  himself  master  of  it,  —  a 
welcome  conqueror.  The  Mexicans,  with  the  genu 
ine  love  for  song  of  their  Southern  ancestors,  had  had 
but  few  opportunities  for  gratifying  it  such  as  that 
now  offered  to  them.  Garcia  was  a  tenor  of  great 
compass,  and  a  most  skilful  and  accomplished  singer. 
The  artists  who  accompanied  him  were  of  a  high 


WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIM  A   DONNA  ?  341 

order  of  merit,  if  not  of  the  very  first  class.  Mexico 
had  never  heard  the  like,  and,  though  a  hard-money 
country,  was  glad  to  take  their  notes,  and  give  them 
gold  in  return.  They  were  feasted  and  flattered  in 
the  intervals  of  the  concerts,  and  the  bright  eyes  of 
senoras  and  senoritas  rained  influence  upon  them  on 
the  off  nights,  as  their  fair  hands  rained  flowers  upon 
the  on  ones.  And  they  have  a  very  pleasant  way, 
in  those  golden  realms,  of  giving  ornaments  of  dia 
monds  and  other  precious  stones  to  virtuous  singers, 
as  we  give  pencil-cases  and  gold  watches  to  merito 
rious  railway-conductors  and  hotel-clerks,  as  a  testi 
monial  of  the  sense  we  entertain  of  their  private 
characters  and  public  services.  The  gorgeous  East 
herself  never  showered  "  on  her  kings  barbaric  pearl 
and  gold  "  with  a  richer  hand  than  the  city  of  Mexico 
poured  out  the  glittering  rain  over  the  portly  person 
of  the  happy  Garcia.  Saturated  at  length  with  the 
golden  flood  and  its  foam  of  pearl  and  diamond  —  if, 
indeed,  singer  were  ever  capable  of  such  saturation, 
and  were  not  rather  permeable  forever,  like  a  sieve  of 
the  Danaides,  —  saturated,  or  satisfied  that  it  was  all 
run  out,  he  prepared  to  take  up  his  line  of  march 
back  again  to  the  City  of  the  True  Cross.  Mexico 
mourned  over  his  going,  and  sent  him  forth  upon  his 
way  with  blessings,  and  prayers  for  his  safe  return. 

But  alas  !  the  blessings  and  the  prayers  were  alike 
vain.  The  saints  were  either  deaf  or  busy,  or  had 
gone  a  journey,  and  either  did  not  hear  or  did  not 
mind  the  vows  that  were  sent  up  to  them.  At  any 


342  WHO   PAID   FOR  THE   PR1MA  DONNA  ? 

rate,  they  did  not  take  that  care  of  the  worthy  Gar 
cia  which  their  devotees  had  a  right  to  expect  of 
them.  Turning  his  back  on  the  halls  of  the  Monte- 
zumas,  where  he  had  revelled  so  sumptuously,  he 
proceeded  on  his  way  towards  the  Atlantic  coast,  as 
fast  as  his  mules  thought  fit  to  carry  him  and  his 
beloved  treasure.  With  the  proceeds  of  his  linens 
and  his  lungs,  he  was  rich  enough  to  retire  from  the 
vicissitudes  of  operatic  life  to  some  safe  retreat  in 
his  native  Spain  or  his  adoptive  Italy.  Filled  with 
happy  imaginings,  he  fared  onward,  the  bells  of  his 
mules  keeping  time  with  the  melodious  joy  of  his 
heart,  until  he  had  descended  from  the  tierra  caliente 
to  the  wilder  region  on  the  hither  side  of  Jalapa. 
As  the  narrow  road  turned  sharply,  at  the  foot  of  a 
steeper  descent  than  common,  into  a  dreary  valley, 
made  yet  more  gloomy  by  the  shadow  of  the  hill 
behind  intercepting  the  sun,  though  the  afternoon 
was  not  far  advanced,  the  impresario  was  made  un 
pleasantly  aware  of  the  transitory  nature  of  man's 
hopes  and  the  vanity  of  his  joys.  When  his  train 
wound  into  the  rough  open  space,  it  found  itself 
surrounded  by  a  troop  of  men  whose  looks  and  ges 
tures  bespoke  their  function  without  the  interme 
diation  of  an  interpreter.  But  no  interpreter  was 
needed  in  this  case,  as  Signor  Garcia  was  a  Spaniard 
by  birth,  and  their  expressive  pantomime  was  a 
sufficiently  eloquent  substitute  for  speech.  In  plain 
English,  he  had  fallen  among  thieves,  with  very  little 
chance  of  any  good  Samaritan  coming  by  to  help  him. 


WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA  DONNA?  343 

Now,  Signer  Garcia  had  had  dealings  with  brigands 
and  banditti  all  his  operatic  life.  Indeed,  he  had 
often  drilled  them  till  they  were  perfect  in  their 
exercises,  and  got  them  up  regardless  of  expense. 
Under  his  direction  they  had  often  rushed  forward 
to  the  footlights,  pouring  into  the  helpless  mass 
before  them  repeated  volleys  of  explosive  crotchets. 
But  this  was  a  very  different  chorus  that  now  saluted 
his  eyes.  It  was  the  real  thing,  instead  of  the  make- 
believe,  and  in  the  opinion  of  Signer  Garcia,  at  least, 
very  much  inferior  to  it.  Instead  of  the  steeple- 
crowned  hat,  jauntily  feathered  and  looped,  these 
irregulars  wore  huge  sombreros,  much  the  worse  for 
time  and  weather,  flapped  over  their  faces.  For  the 
velvet  jacket  with  the  two-inch  tail,  which  had 
nearly  broken  up  the  friendship  between  Mr.  Pick 
wick  and  Mr.  Tupman,  when  the  latter  gentleman 
proposed  induing  himself  with  one,  on  the  occasion 
of  Mrs.  Leo  Hunter's  fancy-dress  breakfast,  —  for 
this  integument,  I  say,  these  minions  of  the  moon 
had  blankets  round  their  shoulders,  thrown  back  in 
preparation  for  actual  service.  Instead  of  those 
authentic  cross-garterings  in  which  your  true  bandit 
rejoices,  like  a  new  Malvolio,  to  tie  up  his  legs,  per 
haps  to  keep  them  from  running  away,  these  false 
knaves  wore,  some  of  them,  ragged  boots  up  to  their 
thighs,  while  others  had  no  crural  coverings  at  all, 
and  only  rough  sandals,  such  as  the  Indians  there 
use,  between  their  feet  and  the  ground.  They  were 
picturesque,  perhaps,  but  not  attractive  to  wealthy 


344  WHO    PAID    FOR   THE   PRIMA   DONNA  ? 

travellers.  But  the  wealthy  travellers  were  attrac 
tive  to  them :  so  they  came  together,  all  the  same. 
Such  as  they  were,  however,  there  they  were,  fierce, 
sad,  and  sallow,  with  vicious-looking  knives  in  their 
belts,  and  guns  of  various  parentage  in  their  hands, 
while  their  captain  bade  our  good  man  stand  and 
deliver. 

There  was  no  room  for  choice.  He  had  an  es 
cort,  to  be  sure ;  but  it  was  entirely  unequal  to  the 
emergency,  even  if  it  were  not,  as  was  afterwards 
shrewdly  suspected,  in  league  with  the  robbers.  The 
enemy  had  the  advantage  of  arms,  position,  and  num 
bers  ;  and  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to 
disgorge  his  hoarded  gains  at  once,  or  to  have  his 
breath  stopped  first,  and  his  estate  summarily  ad 
ministered  upon  afterwards,  by  these  his  casual 
heirs,  as  the  King  of  France,  by  virtue  of  his  Droit 
d'Aubaine,  would  have  confiscated  Yorick's  six  shirts 
and  pair  of  black  silk  breeches,  in  spite  of  his  elo 
quent  protest  against  such  injustice,  had  he  chanced 
to  die  in  his  Most  Christian  Majesty's  dominions. 
As  Signor  Garcia  had  an  estate  in  his  breath,  from 
which  he  could  draw  a  larger  yearly  rent  than  the 
rolls  of  many  a  Spanish  grandee  could  boast,  he 
wisely  chose  the  part  of  discretion,  and  surrendered 
at  the  same.  His  new  acquaintances  showed  them 
selves  expert  practitioners  in  the  breaking-open  of 
trunks  and  the  rilling  of  treasure-boxes.  All  his 
beloved  doubloons,  all  his  cherished  dollars,  for  the 
which  no  Yankee  ever  felt  a  stronger  passion,  took 


WHO  PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA  DONNA?  345 

swift  wings,  and  flew  from  his  coffers  to  alight  in  the 
hands  of  the  adversary.  The  sacred  recesses  of  his 
pockets,  and  those  of  his  companions,  were  sacred  no 
longer  from  the  sacrilegious  hands  of  the  spoilers. 
The  breastpins  were  ravished  from  the  shirt-frills,  — 
for  in  those  days  studs  were  not,  —  and  the  rings 
snatched  from  the  reluctant  fingers.  All  the  shining 
testimonials  of  Mexican  admiration  were  transferred 
with  the  celerity  of  magic  into  the  possession  of  the 
chivalry  of  the  road.  Not  Faulconbridge  himself 
could  have  been  more  resolved  to  come  on  at  the 
beckoning  of  gold  and  silver  than  were  they,  and, 
good  Catholics  though  they  were,  it  is  most  likely 
that  Bell,  Book,  and  Candle  would  have  had  as 
little  restraining  influence  over  them  as  he  professed 
to  feel. 

At  last  they  rested  from  their  labors.  To  the 
victors  belonged  the  spoils,  as  they  discovered  with 
instinctive  sagacity  that  they  should  do,  though  the 
apothegm  had  not  yet  received  the  authentic  seal 
of  American  statesmanship.  Science  and  skill  had 
done  their  utmost,  and  poor  Garcia  and  his  compan 
ions  in  misery  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  ring, 
stripped  of  everything  but  the  clothes  on  their  backs. 
The  duty  of  the  day  being  satisfactorily  performed, 
the  victors  felt  that  they  had  a  right  to  some  relaxa 
tion  after  their  toils.  And  now  a  change  came  over 
them  which  might  have  reminded  Signor  Garcia  of 
the  banditti  of  the  green-room,  with  whose  habits  he 
had  been  so  long  familiar,  and  whose  operations  he 


346  WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA   DONNA? 

had  himself  directed.  Some  one  of  the  troop,  who, 
however  "fit  for  stratagems  and  spoils,"  had  yet  music 
in  his  soul,  called  aloud  for  a  song.  The  idea  was 
hailed  with  acclamations.  Not  satisfied  with  the 
capitalized  results  of  his  voice  to  which  they  had 
helped  themselves,  they  were  unwilling  to  let  their 
prey  go,  until  they  had  also  ravished  from  him  some 
specimens  of  the  airy  mintage  whence  they  had 
issued.  Accordingly  the  Catholic  vagabonds  seated 
themselves  on  the  ground,  a  fuliginous  parterre  to 
look  upon,  and  called  upon  Garcia  for  a  song.  A 
rock  which  projected  itself  from  the  side  of  the  hill 
served  for  a  stage  as  well  as  the  "  green  plat "  in  the 
wood  near  Athens  did  for  the  company  of  Manager 
Quince,  and  there  was  no  need  of  "  a  tiring-room," 
as  poor  Garcia  had  no  clothes  to  change  for  those  he 
stood  in.  Not  the  Hebrews  by  the  waters  of  Baby 
lon,  when  their  captors  demanded  of  them  a  song  of 
Zion,  had  less  stomach  for  the  task.  But  the  prime 
tenor  was  now  before  an  audience  that  would  brook 
neither  denial  nor  excuse.  Nor  hoarseness,  nor  ca 
tarrh,  nor  sudden  illness,  certified  unto  by  the  friendly 
physician,  would  avail  him  now.  The  demand  was 
irresistible ;  for,  when  he  hesitated,  the  persuasive 
though  stern  mouth  of  a  musket  hinted  to  him  in 
expressive  silence  that  he  had  better  prevent  its 
speech  with  song. 

So  he  had  to  make  his  first  appearance  upon  that 
"  unworthy  scaffold,"  before  an  audience,  which,  mul 
tifold  as  his  experience  had  been,  was  one  such  as 


WHO  PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA  DONNA?  347 

he  had  never  sung  to  yet.  As  the  shadows  of  even 
ing  began  to  fall,  rough  torches  of  pine-wood  were 
lighted,  and  shed  a  glare  such  as  Salvator  Bosa  loved 
to  kindle,  upon  a  scene  such  as  he  delighted  to  paint. 
The  rascals  had  taste ;  that  the  tenor  himself  could 
not  deny.  They  knew  the  choice  bits  of  the  operas 
which  held  the  stage  forty  years  ago,  and  they  called 
for  them  wisely,  and  applauded  his  efforts  vociferously. 
Nay,  more,  in  the  height  of  their  enthusiasm,  they 
would  toss  him  one  of  his  own  doubloons  or  dollars, 
instead  of  the  bouquets  usually  hurled  at  well- 
deserving  singers.  They  well  judged  that  these 
flowers  that  never  fade  would  be  the  tribute  he 
would  value  most,  and  so  they  rewarded  his  merito 
rious  strains  out  of  his  own  stores,  as  Claude  Duval 
or  Richard  Turpin,  in  the  golden  days  of  highway 
robbery,  would  sometimes  generously  return  a  guinea 
to  a  traveller  he  had  just  lightened  of  his  purse,  to 
enable  him  to  continue  his  journey.  It  was  lucky 
for  the  unfortunate  Garcia  that  their  approbation 
took  this  solid  shape,  or  he  would  have  been  badly 
off  indeed  ;  for  it  was  all  he  had  to  begin  the  world 
with  over  again.  After  his  appreciating  audience 
had  exhausted  their  musical  repertory,  and  had  as 
many  encores  as  they  thought  good,  they  broke  up 
the  concert,  and  betook  themselves  to  their  fastnesses 
among  the  mountains,  leaving  their  patient  to  find 
his  way  to  the  coast  as  best  he  might,  with  a  pocket 
as  light  as  his  soul  was  heavy.  At  Vera  Cruz  a  con 
cert  or  two  furnished  him  with  the  means  of  embark- 


348     WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA  ? 

ing  himself  and  his  troupe  for  Europe,  and  leaving 
the  New  World  forever  behind  him. 

And  here  I  must  leave  him,  for  my  story  is  done. 
The  reader  hungering  for  a  moral  may  discern,  that, 
though  Signor  Garcia  received  the  price  he  asked  for 
his  lovely  daughter,  it  advantaged  him  nothing,  and 
that  he  not  only  lost  it  all,  but  it  was  the  occasion 
of  his  losing  everything  else  he  had.  This  is  very 
well  as  far  as  it  goes ;  but  then  it  is  equally  true 
that  M.  Malibran  actually  obtained  his  wife,  and 
that  Mynheer  Van  Holland  paid  for  her.  I  dare  say 
all  this  can  be  reconciled  with  the  eternal  fitness  of 
tilings ;  but  I  protest  I  don't  see  how  it  is  to  be 
done.  It  is  "  all  a  muddle  "  in  my  mind.  I  cannot 
even  affirm  that  the  banditti  were  ever  hanged; 
and  I  am  quite  sure  that  the  unlucky  Dutch  mer 
chant,  whose  goods  were  so  comically  mixed  up  with 
this  whole  history,  never  had  any  poetical  or  mate 
rial  justice  for  his  loss  of  them.  But  it  is  as  much 
the  reader's  business  as  mine  to  settle  these  casuis 
tries.  I  only  undertook  to  tell  him  who  it  was  that 
paid  for  the  Prima  Donna  —  and  I  have  done  it. 

V. 

"  I  CONSIDER  that  a  good  story,"  said  the  Consul, 
when  he  had  finished  the  narration  out  of  which  I 
have  compounded  the  foregoing,  "  and,  what  is  not 
always  the  case  with  a  good  story,  it  is  a  true  one." 

I  cordially  concurred  with  my  honored  friend  in 


WHO   PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA  DONNA?  349 

this  opinion,  and  if  the  reader  should  unfortunately 
differ  from  me  on  this  point,  I  beg  him  to  believe 
that  it  is  entirely  my  fault.  As  the  Consul  told  it 
to  me,  it  was  an  excellent  good  story. 

"Poor  Mynheer  Van  Holland,"  he  added,  laugh 
ing,  "never  got  over  that  adventure.  Not  that  the 
loss  was  material  to  him,  —  he  was  too  rich  for  that,  — 
but  the  provocation  of  his  fifty  thousand  dollars 
going  to  a  parcel  of  Mexican  ladrones,  after  buying  an 
opera-singer  for  a  Frenchman  on  its  way,  was  enough 
to  rouse  even  Dutch  human  nature  to  the  swearing- 
point.  He  could  not  abide  either  Frenchmen  or 
opera-singers  all  the  rest  of  his  life.  And,  by  Jove  ! 
I  don't  wonder  at  it." 

Nor  I,  neither,  for  the  matter  of  that. 


University  Press,  Cambridge  :  John  Wilson  and  Son. 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 


DAY     AND     TO     $1.OO     ON     ffffcOI4J.H.E 


II  )fcf     <l  J-l.         «  -u 

3tW  iy    1944 

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i2Jul'65VB 

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JUL  2  2  65  -9  PW 

1"!™*  P\       rt     f\      «t/1.n. 

FEB  23  1985 

REC  CIRMftt     9  1985 

1 

LD  21-100m-7,'40  (6936s) 

GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


